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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223573">In old New York</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach'>gealach</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dark Wolverine (Comics), Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses, Time Loop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:00:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daken dies in Times Square after leaving his father with nothing and severing ties with Johnny Storm. Then he regains consciousness that very same morning.<br/>This happens again. And again. And again...<br/>Why does he keep reliving this day?</p><p>Set after <i>Daken: Dark Wolverine</i> #23.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daken Akihiro &amp; Logan, Daken Akihiro/Johnny Storm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It’s here! The time-loop AU I’ve always wanted to write! I’ve been thinking about this for <i>years</i> but my long-fics took so much time and energy, so I never managed to do the idea justice. I’m very excited to be able to share it with you now ^-^ I hope you all enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>I.</p><p>Mere moments to the end.</p><p>Daken had still time for one last taunt. But oddly enough, there in front of Earth’s mightiest heroes - and don’t look behind, <em>don’t</em> search Johnny’s gaze one last time, even if his scent haunted Daken - the apology lodged itself in his throat. The mocking embrace he’d locked his father into made him vibrate with longing and regret. How different things could have been! How different -</p><p>Fury took hold again. It was a matter of seconds now and Daken made the most of it, making sure of hitting where it hurt. Oh, he relished in the doubt that the Wolverine doll would seed inside his father! Logan would always wonder if the first part of the apology was real, and the truth was:</p><p>Here, in the last moments, it was.</p><p>What could have been. What could have been -</p><p>The last thing Daken thought before he died was that he’d made such a fucking mess of things.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Frank Sinatra’s voice startled Daken, his fist closing automatically around the Wolverine doll in his hand. The voices of the toy shop filtered through; noises and smells of far too many people wasting their lives away... Parents thinking they could buy their children’s affection, children clinging to the hope that a toy meant that their parents loved them.</p><p>It had been a vivid hallucination. Too bad he should be clean, every trace of the Heat drug gone from his system. He’d been staring at his hand, at the lines of age horrifyingly forming on his perfect skin, and he’d been thinking about his plan -</p><p>And then what? He’d hallucinated how it would play out, right there in the open? How long had he been standing there, staring like a moron?</p><p>“That’s Wolverine!” a childish voice said beside him. “He’s one of the best good guys.”</p><p>Deja vu. Daken’s blood ran cold.</p><p>“He is,” he said, putting the doll in the inside pocket of his jacket, and he left the mall like a man possessed. He couldn't be hallucinating like this, he had to get on with his plan. His swan song.</p><p>He reached the Baxter Building panting like an arteriosclerotic. He shouldn’t have run.</p><p>He had an appointment with Reed, to ascertain whether the Heat really was killing him; but that was a ruse.</p><p>He <em>knew</em> it was killing him. He <em>felt</em> it. He felt his flesh decay. His plan was simply to gain access to the building in order to plant a bomb and -</p><p>Reed was talking, saying the exact same things Daken had hallucinated earlier. Vapid reassurances made with such a sad tone, ridiculous, but it was the same words. Or was he hallucinating them too, and Reed was saying other things entirely? Didn’t the Heat make him <em>see </em>things? It wasn’t usually so boring, so mundane, no bright colors, but hadn’t it provoked blackouts too, gaping voids he couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried?</p><p>He was fucked.</p><p>He needed to go, make his move before he collapsed like an addict. Was this cold turkey? Was he <em>fucking</em> going cold turkey?</p><p>Reed tried to stop him. Daken spat venom, words he’d hallucinated earlier, but he couldn’t be suave about it. He cupped Reed’s face but it was all wrong, the tone, the gestures, Reed’s expression.</p><p>A scent hit his nostrils and he stiffened. Johnny. Johnny was here, back from the dead, and it made Daken want to retch. ‘<em>It’s really good to have you here</em>’, he’d hallucinated Johnny saying when he was having that heart attack. <em>That </em>had been a hallucination. When he was dying from that bullet. Was he dying? Was he still in that alley, having a heart attack? The smell coiled itself in his throat, suffocating him. He shouldered Johnny away, ants beneath his skin, he needed to leave now and never come back, he’d done what he’d come here to do, the bomb was planted - was it? <em>Was it? </em>Or had he hallucinated that too?</p><p>“Hey,” Johnny said, oh, his <em>voice, </em>“I thought you’d be pleased to -”</p><p>“<em>Real</em> people stay dead when they die, Johnny,” Daken spat, hysterical. “You standing here is simply an insult.”</p><p>He was dying, he was hallucinating, he was <em>dying. </em>No coming back this time, no healing factor, it was fried. <em>Pouf! </em>Gone. The hubris of man.</p><p>He fled. Johnny didn’t follow and Daken pretended it didn’t stung and carried on with his plan, oh, he <em>hoped </em>he was carrying on and wasn’t simply staggering in the streets, talking to himself.</p><p>Night, explosions, Logan plastered to a helicopter, drugged out of his mind. Daken sang that stupid song, Sinatra’s song, like he had hallucinated earlier; his hands shook around the controls, it was a miracle he wasn’t plummeting them both to death. He waxed poetics. He didn't know. Nihilistic nonsense. He was saying the <em>same </em>things he’d hallucinated that morning, so he <em>was </em>hallucinating now. He must be.</p><p>Was he rambling, raving like a lunatic, sprouting answers that didn't match what he was being told? One-ended conversations. He could be dying in a ditch, in a pool of his own vomit. He was bleeding. No matter. He downed Heat pills and carried on, leading the chase to the last bomb. He crawled and saw Donna, an unmovable object, and Johnny, <em>Johnny</em>, his eyes so disappointed, and then Logan, he clung to Logan, yes, pulled him down and apologized, set his trap, his chest ached, Logan’s face was a study in shock and horror and rage and betrayal and regret, it made Daken want to vomit, it made him want to cry, to <em>sob</em> like a little baby -</p><p>A mess, such a fucking mess.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Sinatra, in the toy shop. In front of the Avengers dolls. The Wolverine doll in his hand.</p><p>What the fuck was happening?</p><p>He was hallucinating. He must be hallucinating. The Heat, it was making him go cold turkey.</p><p>“That’s Wolverine!” The child beside him. “He’s one of the best good guys.”</p><p>Daken broke into a cold sweat. He pocketed the doll, ignoring the boy’s gaping, and swallowed the pills, the pills he’d saved for a moment of need. They scratched his throat as they went down. Bright colors and fantastical shapes greeted him like an old friend. As if he’d ever had friends.</p><p>He shouldn’t have done that. He really shouldn't have done that. It was all… too much. Cars flew off the ground, people were watching him, whispering, ants looking at him as if he was dirt. He’d been looked at with so much admiration, so much envy before. This couldn't be happening. He couldn’t go like this. He should be in control, his demise meticulously planned. He should be his own master. He should be in control!</p><p>But at least he knew he could trust <em>these </em>hallucinations. Everything around him was distorted and impossible, but he <em>knew </em>it was. He <em>perceived </em>it. And the words, the words he heard, they were words he was really told. He was sure of it.</p><p>He hid the bomb behind a pink orangutan in the Baxter Building’s spaceship and found Reed’s lavatory and told him about the Heat. Reed made him lie down on a surf table. He was talking. He was saying exactly what he’d said in the hallucination. Daken pinched himself, hard, droplets of yellow floating from his hand.</p><p>“Daken!” Reed said, rushing him, “What are you doing?”</p><p><em>I’m making sure it’s real,</em> Daken thought. It probably wasn’t. Reed wrapped pink foliage around his hand. Daken stared at it. This hadn’t happened before. Before. Before?</p><p>“I want to keep you here,” Reed said. “We’ll beat this, Daken, I’m sure.”</p><p>At least one of them was. Daken laughed. He punched Reed, hard.</p><p>“<em>Hey!</em>” That <em>voice.</em> Daken turned away from Reed, lilies and sugar and ash in his nostrils.</p><p>Johnny looked radiant, crowned by flames. Johnny was <em>dead</em>. He must be. He was a cadaver floating in space. He wasn’t really here. Daken must have hallucinated that Johnny was back from the dead, that he’d triumphantly returned, drawing a four of fire into the sky. Johnny was still <em>dead.</em></p><p>Daken needed to get the hell out of here.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em> are you doing?” the ghost said, and no, Johnny had never talked to him like this. He wouldn’t have. He was so sweet. Twisted by Daken’s rancid presence. Why had Daken used him? Why had he hurt him? Why had he kissed him like that, on the rooftop, hungry and searing, sliding beneath Johnny’s skin, Johnny sliding beneath his -?</p><p>Johnny wasn’t here. Daken walked past him, liliesugarash, and there was a hand on his arm, stopping him, and he wanted to scream. “I thought you’d be pleased to -”</p><p>“You’re <em>dead</em>,” Akihiro gasped, and who cared that he was talking to the air, that Reed saw. The contact on his arm was warm and bright and soft. “Real people stay dead when they die. Not like me.”</p><p>He wasn’t real. Daken wasn't real, he’d never been. None of this was real.</p><p>He swayed.</p><p>The ghost caught him, but he couldn’t catch him: he wasn’t real. He was <em>dead</em>. When they’d kissed, on that rooftop, he’d tasted like cinnamon. He’d tasted like home. Daken cupped his face, delirious. This wasn't happening.</p><p>“You’re real,” he breathed. His voice was wet. The ghost frowned. That cute little frown Johnny made when he didn't understand something. That happened so often. He was such a stupid boy. Daken had destroyed him. And now Johnny was dead, no coming back from that, just as Daken would stay dead now, <em>boom </em>and gone, his limbs torn to pieces, incinerated.</p><p>If Daken couldn’t come back anymore, did that make him real?</p><p>“Reed, what’s happening?”</p><p>“He’s drugged. I thought - but of course, his healing factor - Put him here.” Daken saw Reed’s face, upside down, surrounded by green petals, and laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were under the influence?”</p><p>“I’m hallucinating,” Daken said helpfully.</p><p>“Yes you are. Let’s see -” Reed swirled like a ballerina, humming an aria. The ghost stood by. Daken shuddered.</p><p>“Did he suffer?” he asked, looking away from its accusing gaze.</p><p>Reed stopped singing. “Who?” His voice floated like a soap bubble.</p><p>“Johnny. Did he suffer?” Why was everything so <em>cold? </em>“I lied to him. I shouldn’t have… I should have never… now he’s <em>dead</em> and… Did he <em>suffer</em>, Reed?”</p><p>“I’m here!” the ghost exclaimed, shock and pain in its voice. It was so similar, it was uncanny. Daken closed his eyes. He couldn't bear its sight. “Daken, it’s me! I’m alive!”</p><p>And it touched him, the ghost, but it wasn’t cold, it was warm. Johnny had always been so warm. Daken pulled away, hysterical.</p><p>“I’m <em>hallucinating</em>,” he said - God, he hoped he was saying it. His voice felt shrill like a forest fire. It painted everything red. Blood. Had Johnny bled? “Make it stop. I see… make it <em>stop</em> -”</p><p>“All right, Daken, I’m trying -”</p><p>“It’s gonna be alright, hey. I promise.” The ghost was touching him.</p><p>Daken rolled away and fell, splashed in the water, dying, drowning. He heard Reed’s voice, “<em>You’re upsetting him, Johnny, please leave</em>,’ and he cried out. “Make it stop! Make it <em>stop</em>, I can’t -”</p><p>Reed shoved a bright neon light in his eyes. “Alright now, Daken. Alright. It’s just you and me. Describe what you see. I need to cross-reference with what you said before.”</p><p><em>Before</em>. A whisper of something, but it was gone. Daken complied; there was nothing to it, after all. “I keep hallucinating how this day could go,” he choked out. “Maybe I’m not even with you right now. Maybe I’m drooling in some ditch.”</p><p>“Let’s act on the assumption that you aren’t,” Reed said lightly. His face was coming into focus. “You have repeating hallucinations?”</p><p>“Like a Russian Doll,” Daken whispered. “What’s its name. Matrjóška. <em>I die and it starts all over again -</em>”</p><p>He registered, faintly, that he was talking in Russian. Did Reed know Russian? Romulus spoke it fluently. He was probably from the area. When Daken made some mistake whilst reporting in Russian, Romulus used to punish him. Not that he needed a reason to punish Daken. There was something in the Russian language that had taken Daken longer to master. He’d known twenty languages already, but Russian still gave him pause. Of course he’d learnt eventually. He always learned.</p><p>“<em>Let’s backtrack a bit, ah</em> -” Reed. He knew Russian, apparently. His accent was ridiculous. “You’re reliving this day?”</p><p>“Like it should go,” Daken said, something stirring at the edge of his mind. “I have it all planned. I accounted for all variables, so I’d understand hallucinating them, but I keep seeing the same version of events.”</p><p>Should he tell Reed this? He shouldn’t, right? Ah, what did it matter. He was hallucinating anyway.</p><p>“What do you have planned, Daken?”</p><p>“My swan song,” he murmured. It would be over soon. On his terms. If he stopped hallucinating, that was. “My masterpiece. I’ll leave Logan with nothing -”</p><p>There were chains of gold around his arms, around his legs. Daken saw them and laughed, laughed, laughed. Oh, he felt so light! He’d be free, he’d be finally free, oh, sweet freedom, finally, after everything, after his fucked up shithole of a life -</p><p>The high stopped suddenly, the world around him turning to a dull grey. He was alone in the lab.</p><p>He was restrained.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. He hadn't been hallucinating, then. <em>This </em>was real, and like a moron, like a fucking idiot, he’d given the game away.</p><p>There was still a chance. He hadn’t talked about the bombs. Had he? He didn’t think so. Soon they’d go off, and since they already had their culprit, Logan would be here soon. Daken hadn't put the doll in his father’s room yet, his plan had been to do it that night, but he could still salvage the confrontation. They’d want to know where the other bombs were, unaware that it was dupes. Daken could still hurt Logan.</p><p>Johnny’s scent filled his nostrils and he tensed. Johnny was alive. He hadn't been hallucinating him, he was <em>alive</em>. Had Daken said something? He wasn’t sure.</p><p>“I thought you were our friend,” Johnny said, bitter, as if it could mask the roughness of his voice. Poor lost boy, hurt by Daken’s betrayal. It made Daken’s chest clench. “I thought you were <em>my </em>friend.”</p><p>“Joke’s on you,” Daken said off-handedly. He didn't deign Johnny with his attention, looking at the ceiling.</p><p>Sure. That was the reason.</p><p>“It’s not too late, Daken. Tell us what you’ve planned. We’ll help you, I promise.”</p><p>Daken’s throat ached. “Thank you,” he said, “for confirming you have no idea of what’s going to happen.”</p><p>Johnny cursed. He’d always been so stupid. Such a gullible boy. Daken’s heart hurt, but it wasn't as if he <em>had </em>a heart.</p><p>“We’ll stop you,” Johnny said firmly, in heroic mode. Gone was any trace of pain from his voice. “We’ll stop what you have planned.”</p><p>“So high and mighty, I’m all a-shiver. We’ll see, Johnny-boy.”</p><p>Johnny fled, and Daken pretended it didn't sting, and he occupied himself with scenarios. Logan would come. He was sure of it. He’d come and confront Daken; he had to. That was the script. They were linked, the two of them, by blood and rage. He wanted to make Logan cry. He wanted to drive it home, how horrifyingly Logan had failed. How he’d failed them both.</p><p>There were maggots in his flesh. They were rotting him from the inside. Organ failure. He’d been a damn idiot to take the pills again.</p><p>The building shook. Finally, the show was on. He heard, faintly, the screaming of passers-by as they lost limbs. He strained, trying to hear everything. Alarms blared. New York was in shambles. He’d accounted for everything, except for being incapacited and unable to move things along, but the bombs were on timers. They, at least, would create mayhem. They’d find the cloaking devices soon enough, and then they’d understand that they masked nothing, and they would relax, but the last bomb, the one that was meant to kill Daken, would scare them again.</p><p>He wasn’t disappointed that he was far from its location, that he couldn't possibly get there in time; he could feel himself dying. He probably wouldn’t survive the night. He was still destroying himself: that was apt.</p><p>Finally he smelt his father, that scent that made him coil tightly.</p><p>“You look like shit,” Logan said. Daken would have to crane his neck to see him, and that would be undignified, so he kept staring at the ceiling. “Reed said your cells are eatin’ ‘emselves. I must say, son, you look like it.”</p><p>Daken seethed. “Is that <em>blood</em> I smell on you, Logan?” he spat.</p><p>He could sense Logan’s fury, burning cold. The rage of a predator. But Logan had absolutely nothing of Romulus’ commanding presence.</p><p>“A lot of innocent people were hurt tonight, son.”</p><p>“Innocent,” Daken scoffed. “No one’s <em>innocent</em>. Everyone’s just looking for an excuse to destroy.” Oh, he hoped that his plan had managed to turn New Yorkers against the heroes. At least some. “You’d know. <em>Weapon X. Wolverine.</em>”</p><p>“I’ve always fought against it. We ain’t animals.”</p><p>There was a time when Daken had taken pride in that. In the thought, the <em>certainty</em>, that people were all animals, beneath him, and he alone would come out on top.</p><p>But those had been lies, to make him compliant. To control him. He’d sought out to prove that he was still better, but L.A. had proved him wrong in such a spectacular way.</p><p>He was just like everyone else. Fallible. Ridiculous. An ant ambling by, making do.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he choked. Time to get on with the last act; he was getting maudlin.</p><p>“Are you?” Logan finally came into view, eyes unforgiving. Daken suppressed a shudder, a childish cry.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but there’s another bomb. In your precious school.” In order for the plan to still work he’d have to die before Logan came back to confront him on its absence, but he was confident he wouldn’t last long anymore. “You should run along and save your kids.”</p><p>“There’s no bomb,” Logan said idly. He arched an eyebrow, looking down at him like one would a petulant child.</p><p>“There is,” Daken hissed, “And you better hurry, Logan, we wouldn’t want something to happen to them -”</p><p>“Quit this nonsense, son. Gig’s up. It’s over. You failed. And you know what?” He touched Daken’s arm, his gaze shifting with thrice-be-damned <em>pity</em>. “This won’t free you, son.”</p><p>Daken’s blood ran cold. He’d said… He’d said it, hadn’t he? While he was tripping mad. And Reed, damn him to hell, had told <em>Logan</em>.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“You do.” Logan clenched his teeth. “Damn it all, son, you made such a mess.” <em>Such a mess, such a mess. </em>“When this prison, it’s one of your own making -”</p><p>“Shut <em>up. </em>You know <em>nothing</em>.” How <em>dare </em>he? Hysteria bubbled in his throat, hysteria and a stabbing pain.</p><p>“And whose fault was that?” Logan said. He sounded tired, so tired. “God knows I’ve tried to reach you. I tried everything, son. But you’re gone. You’re hurting, and you’re lashing out, and I can’t let you do that anymore.”</p><p>“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Logan?” Hold on, this was actually perfect. It would free him, and it would shatter Logan to a million pieces. It would destroy him. “Put me down then. Do your worst.”</p><p>Logan recoiled as if Daken had stuck his claws in him and it was good, to know that he still <em>had</em> it, that he could still hurt his father, wipe that disgusting expression from his face. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to see it, it made him want to retch and sob.</p><p>
  <em>Such a fucking mess.</em>
</p><p>Logan was leaving. Daken gasped, straining against his bonds, but he was so laughably weak, so ridiculous. “Get back here! We aren’t done!” He had to goad Logan, leave him with nothing… “Get back here, you coward!”</p><p>Logan fled. He wasn't in the room anymore. His scent lingered and then went, gone, gone. Daken screamed and his throat was raw. He was dying and he hadn’t even done what he’d planned. He was a failure. Every part of him ached, hurt, screamed, his flesh turning to rot. He was dying. He was nothing.</p><p>He <em>felt </em>nothing. Blessed relief. He floated, nerve endings muted. Was he still dying? Was he dead? Was he free?</p><p><em>This won’t free you</em>.</p><p>“I hope you’re comfortable,” a voice said, as if from far away. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.” Reed? Was it Reed’s voice? “I don’t know if you can still hear me. If you weren’t lying, Daken, skip the pills next time.” Next time? What did that mean? “Hopefully you’ll be sharper. And find me, and tell me that green suns are coming out of the core. It’s very important, Daken, <em>green suns are coming out of the core</em>. Tell me those exact words.”</p><p>That didn’t make any sense. He was hallucinating. He was hallucinating again, it must be. And that meant -</p><p>Someone was crying. Johnny?</p><p>Such a fucking mess of things.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>II.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Sinatra echoed all around Daken. He was standing in front of the Avengers stall, the Wolverine doll in his hand.</p><p>He’d hallucinated all that. Again. He was on a clock, crumbling miserably with every passing minute. He turned and fled, shoving a kid out of the way, and left the toy store.</p><p>He needed to speed things up. If he was losing it, he needed to do everything sooner. That meant fleeing around the city and changing the timers and hoping it would suffice. He threw the pills away; he needed to be sharp. He skipped the Baxter Building - unnecessary - and reached Logan’s school. That was important: he had to leave the doll there.</p><p>But did he? It would haunt Logan forever, but he didn’t need a <em>prop </em>to hurt Logan. And trying to get in during the day was practically begging to get caught and fail.</p><p>He retreated, and planned some more. Without the cover of darkness, he needed a different approach.</p><p>The attack sprung while people were out on lunch break. Daken jumped from place to place, engineering chaos. It didn’t take long to turn the general population against its heroes. He watched the ants hysterically push back, but it didn't give him the satisfaction he’d sought out.</p><p>He felt empty, seeing the mayhem on the streets. Was this what it came down to, his grand plan? A triumph of nihilism. And for what? To mark the territory? To paint a giant sign, to scream to the world that he wasn’t inconsequential? That it hadn’t all been for nothing. That he hadn’t bled just to become a bartering chip, but that he <em>mattered</em>. That he was capable of leaving a mark.</p><p>A child throwing a tantrum.</p><p>He deflated. But then he was located and he had to move, move, leading the chase to the final stage. And for what? He moved on autopilot. It was pointless, but it was the only thing he had. He had to see it to the end.</p><p>At least it would all end then.</p><p>He caught a glimpse of Johnny, radiant and grief-stricken and oh so martial. Poor Johnny. Back from the dead only to see his friend betray him. But at least he was alive.</p><p>He saw Logan. Logan came after him with a sadness in his eyes that tore at Daken. He gave it everything he had, lashing out, but he was so ridiculously frail now, a mere human. He was so tired.</p><p>He let go. He slumped after a lunge and didn't get up. Logan stayed back, likely fearing a trick.</p><p>Oh, Daken had such a neat trick up his sleeve. It was bound to come soon, come and take him away with it, but he didn’t care anymore. He only wanted this to end.</p><p>“It’s over, son,” Logan said, from his safe spot. Daken nodded. They were coming for him, coming to put cuffs on him and put him away. He had to resist some more. Just a little while yet, just until his bomb went off, until his deliverance came.</p><p>He pushed himself up. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?” he asked, sounding petulant to his own ears, but the truth was that there was no meaning.</p><p>He was just a child, crying for attention. A fool struggling for meaning. An old man trying to carve his own fate.</p><p>It all went back to the man in front of him, this man he’d hated for half his life. That hate, carved into him. If only. If only -</p><p>“No,” Logan said, unmovable, exhausted. He’d given up on Daken, and whose fault was that?</p><p>What a damn mess.</p><p>“I wanted to leave you with nothing,” Daken said, because he had to say something, he had to buy time. Sweet, sweet relief, just moments away. “I wanted to show you -”</p><p>It came, and it took him, and he was gone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Sinatra’s mocking voice in his ears. ‘<em>This isn’t going to free you.’</em> He stared down at the Wolverine doll in his hand. His father, hated and unattainable. A hallucination so vivid -</p><p>“That’s Wolverine!” a child said. “He’s one of the best good guys.”</p><p>Daken dropped the doll and left, ignoring the accusations of littering. His fingers counted the pills in his pocket. He was sweating.</p><p>He was losing it. He was off the deep end. He was spiralling -</p><p>No. <em>No. Think</em>, goddammit. He’d retained his wits even while the Heat addled his brain, while he was at his worst. His prized intellect remained intact. So <em>think. </em>This couldn’t be a side effect of his quitting cold turkey because, simply, he’d done it <em>weeks </em>ago. If something like this were to happen, it would have happened sooner.</p><p>This didn't <em>feel </em>like a fever dream. Everything was grounded, bleak. The Heat had made everything so colorful. This wasn’t it.</p><p>What, then? A warning? A <em>vision?</em> Sent by whom?</p><p>He wasn't a stranger to divine intervention. The Norns had played with him, a while ago, showing him possible futures. But this was different. It always ended the same, with his death. And death was something he was actively courting today, but the lingering aftertaste of regret was bitter on his tongue.</p><p>He was trapped in some sick game. What was it, that it was trying to show him? That nothing had meaning? That he was a failure?</p><p>He just wanted this to end. Was it so much to ask? Shouldn’t he at least have a <em>say?</em></p><p>Oh, of course not. Who was he kidding?</p><p>If nothing had meaning, then, if he was such a failure, if he was trapped and couldn't die, couldn’t even reach that prize - what was the point of the senseless destruction he’d sought out to wreak on the unsuspecting? He had no point to make, to anyone. He was living in a construct of someone’s choosing, slave to the whims of a godly being. Nothing was real. He was alone, in a prison, for reasons unknown.</p><p>He was done playing by someone else’s rules. He was <em>done </em>learning lessons, as if he had never left Romulus’ shadow, as if he was still a child to be trained. He was <em>done.</em></p><p>Johnny found him in the fifth club he hit, or perhaps it was the sixth, or the seventh. Everything blurred, after a while. Clubs were perfect. Dark and bright, drowning him in stimuli, the warmth and closeness of other bodies pressed to his. Claustrophobic. So boring. But just perfect.</p><p>Johnny bumped on him, and he obviously hadn’t <em>expected </em>to see Daken, so stark were the lines of surprise on his features. He saw Daken and he lit up and it <em>hurt</em>, that open expression morphing his face, so soft, so trusting, so <em>joyful</em>. Daken turned away, ash in his mouth, and Johnny grabbed his arm.</p><p>“Hey,” he shouted, to be heard over the music. <em>Hey, hey, hey</em>. “I thought you’d be pleased to -”</p><p>“Real people stay dead when they die, Johnny.” <em>This isn’t real</em>. Daken was the only real thing here. Hilarious, that. He laughed, feeling hollow. Johnny’s face fell. His fingers spasmed on Daken’s arm, bright spots of heat.</p><p>But it was all right. He wasn’t real.</p><p>“Reed was waiting for you all morning!” Johnny shouted, relentless. “Are you all right?”</p><p>No, no, no, no. No, he wasn’t <em>all right.</em> He was here because he <em>wasn't</em>. He was here because he wouldn’t play by any fucker’s rules. He wasn't going to learn any fucking lessons anymore.</p><p>“Fuck <em>off!”</em></p><p>Off he went, unchased. It didn't sting. Nothing was real. It didn't sting.</p><p>He was in the next club when the bombs went off. Outside it was chaos but this was the city that never slept. He hit one club more before the heroes caught up with him. Logan was there, of course. Daken laughed, unhinged. The music, the lights, it was all so loud. He didn’t move as civilians were ushered away. Logan’s face, grim. Daken already knew. He already <em>knew </em>that it was pointless, that it would always end in blood, that they were doomed. What kind of lesson was this?</p><p>“It’s over, son.”</p><p>It wasn't. It would never end. Oh, how he pitied these ghosts, this nothingness summoned to trap him. Nothing was real.</p><p>Why not go with a bang?</p><p>He lashed out, but Logan was quicker. Hot blood spurted out of Daken. He felt light-headed. Logan caught him, horror on his face, and he held him, smelling terrified.</p><p>“He ain’t healin’! <em>Help! </em>He ain't -”</p><p>Well now he’d gone and done it. Such a damn fucking mess.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>He moved on autopilot. That hadn’t been what he wanted. It hadn’t felt… No. Nothing mattered, this wasn’t real. He went dancing. Johnny found him. He hurt Johnny. Logan found him. Logan wounded him fatally.</p><p>“Help!” Logan screamed.<em> “</em>Someone do <em>something!</em>” Daken felt hollow. He didn’t want… He didn't want Logan to - “<em>Some-”</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>He went dancing. Johnny found him. He hurt Johnny. Always, always hurting Johnny. He doubled down on the alcohol, drowning, reeking. There was a brawl. A drunkard knifed him. Perfect, perfect, so Logan wouldn’t be the one -</p><p>Logan found him, and cradled him into his arms, the Avengers in a semicircle. He was howling.</p><p>Daken touched his father’s cheek, smearing it, mesmerized by the sight of his blood mixing with his father’s tears.</p><p>“Hello, Log-”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>He went dancing. Johnny found him. He said those words, those stupid fucking words. Johnny left. The Avengers came, and Daken did his best to avoid Logan, and Thor fought too enthusiastically. Logan screeched at his friend. Daken was a lump on the floor. He mourned the absence.</p><p>“H-hold m-”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>“This isn’t <em>funny</em>,” Daken snarled, frightening snotty kids and pastel-wearing mothers. “What the fuck do you want? What do you <em>want </em>from me? You want me unhinged? I’ll give you <em>unhinged!</em>”</p><p>He stabbed the kid nearest to him, his baseball hat landing on the dolls, the Avengers dolls sprayed with blood. Screams pierced his ears. He was a machine, oh, he was made for this, every inch of him molded for this. There was no redemption. It was time he embraced it.</p><p>He was surrounded by corpses when the Fantastic Four came, their home the closest headquarters to the shop. Johnny’s haunted gaze ripped him apart. Yes, this was what he was, this <em>thing</em>, this killer; this was all he’d ever be. It was time Johnny saw it.</p><p>Were they happy, his jailors? Had this been a good show? Was his lesson learned? He laughed.</p><p>He was still laughing when they put him away. He was still laughing when he was beaten and tasered by the police, and he was still laughing when he heard Logan’s hollow voice outside of his cell.</p><p>“Why, Daken? Just tell me <em>why…</em>”</p><p>There was no need to answer. Nothing mattered. Nothing was real.</p><p>“It’ll be for life, son. You’ll die in prison. I hope it was worth it.”</p><p>Daken laughed. Oh, oh, such a mess!</p><p>“It’s all right, daddy,” he stammered in-between fits of laughter. “I have a get out of jail card.”</p><p>The medic didn’t make it in time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Johnny’s eyes haunted him. Logan’s <em>voice </em>haunted him. What was the <em>point? </em>If he made such a goddamn mess of everything. If he was trapped. He staggered in the streets, lost. Pulled down, down.</p><p>A weight in his pocket.</p><p>He stared at the pills in his hands, torn, aching. They were a way out from this vision. For a while, at least.</p><p>He took them all. Every single one of them.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Hell, who cared?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>This was fantastic. He had a never-ending supply.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>He took them again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again -</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>It all blurred. It was all in his head. Bright colors and fantastical shapes. Nothing could <em>harm </em>him here. Nothing happened at all. He didn’t lash out, he didn’t hurt <em>anyone</em>, he just -</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>What was he doing? This wasn’t him. He knew it wasn’t. He shouldn’t fall prey to this weakness, to this -</p><p>Hell, it wouldn’t hurt one last time.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>He took them again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again.</p><p>And again -</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>No. <em>No, </em>dammit. He was stronger than this. He -</p><p>“That’s Wolverine!” a child said from beside him, eyeing the doll in Daken’s hand. “He’s one of the best good guys.”</p><p>Daken let go of it, swaying, stumbled out of the store.</p><p>This was what he came down to? An addict plaguing the streets? It was a vision, a trap, but he had more worth than this. Didn’t he? Hadn’t he fought? Hadn’t he <em>bled? </em>And for <em>what? </em>To be this, this… this specter of his former self? This nothing?</p><p>Had Romulus been right all along, then? Was he <em>nothing</em>, a chip, mindless?</p><p>In a fit of paroxysmal rage he threw the pills to the ground, then ran, ran before he could kneel and whimper and grab them from the street, before he could succumb. He ran and ran and ran.</p><p>What was the point? What <em>was </em>it?</p><p>Nothing mattered. Nothing he did, nothing he <em>ever </em>did mattered at all. Hadn’t he established that? A disappointment, a failure. Trapped.</p><p>In a haze, he aimlessly wandered around until he stumbled upon one of his old safehouses. There he curled up on the bed and waited.</p><p>Hours later, some time after the bombs went off, it was his father who came in. Of course. There were a few other heroes in the corridor, Avengers, but they let Logan come in alone. Thor was blabbering about not getting between a confrontation between father and son.</p><p>“Hello, Logan,” he said, because Logan wasn't talking. He wondered what he’d see on his father’s face if he turned, but he didn't really need to turn, did he? He already knew. Disappointment. Pain.</p><p>“Get up, son,” Logan growled.</p><p>Daken didn't move.</p><p>“This sick game ends now. I don’t know what you were trying to prove -”</p><p>“Nothing,” Daken said. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”</p><p>“People were <em>hurt</em>.” Logan was getting riled up. “No one died, but people got <em>hurt</em>. Is this all a game to you?”</p><p>Not to him, no. But to someone, hell, yes it was. Daken shrugged.</p><p>“Get <em>up.</em>”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Puerile. And pointless. But that was it, no? It <em>was </em>pointless.</p><p>“You <em>will </em>answer for this, Daken. Get the <em>fuck</em> up.”</p><p>Logan grabbed him, and shook him, and turned him. He stared down at Daken, frowning. “What the hell -?”</p><p>Daken looked away. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered.</p><p>“Son, you look -” Logan broke off, his nose crunching up. He sniffed. “What’s this smell?”</p><p>Why, Logan, nothing much. It’s just my flesh decaying.</p><p>“Reed said you skipped an appointment with him this morning. What’s happening to you, son?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Daken said. “Keep up, Logan. Nothing does.”</p><p>But of course Logan wouldn’t leave it alone. It was instilled in him, no? That messiah complex. He convinced the Avengers to detour from taking Daken to the authorities, and he brought him to the Baxter Building. Daken suffered Reed’s prodding, and didn’t react when the man reached his verdict.</p><p>Logan looked grief-stricken. “You can help, can’t you, Reed? You can study my healing factor and -”</p><p>“Don’t bother,” Daken said. He was so tired. “Aren’t you tired of this? We will never work.” He could say it, because this wasn’t real. He wasn’t pouring his heart out to his father, because this was just a construct. “We were pitted against each other from the start. We’ll never be what you want us to be.”</p><p>Logan seemed about to cry. Daken didn't want to see it. “Son, I…”</p><p>“Leave me alone. Go back to your life. Let go of this fantasy.”</p><p>But of course Logan couldn’t very well leave it alone, him and Reed both. Elder gods intervening. A lawyer was brought in, Jennifer Walters. The details were lost to Daken, but she negotiated his stay in the Baxter Building for the time being as Reed looked for a cure.</p><p>Not that it mattered. This was all a vision. Time blurred as Reed attempted to stop the process Daken had put in motion. Daken watched idly, wondering what was the lesson here. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.</p><p>Sometimes Logan stopped by. He sat by Daken’s bed and talked quietly, and Daken ignored him, staring at the ceiling. But he listened. He listened to the sentimental nonsense, to the tales of Logan’s marriage with Daken’s mother, and he wondered how it had come to this. Logan said that Daken’s mother had been called Itsu. Peace. Daken remembered that time so long ago, talking with Johnny about looking for peace, on the rooftop of the Baxter Building. This construct, the gods that had trapped him here, were cruel to torture him with these false things. But did it matter what her name was? Would she have liked what her son had become? He doubted it. He’d done such a fucking mess of things.</p><p>Sometimes Johnny stopped by. He always smelt of fresh tears: it made Daken want to curl up in a ball. Johnny didn't usually talk, he just sat on the bed and held Daken’s hand. It was oddly comforting. Only once had he tried to say that he was sorry, and through the haze of apathy Daken had stirred.</p><p>“Don’t,” he’d croaked. “Not for me. I’m not what I made you see.” It was easier to talk, in this construct. It was easy to just pour everything out, because it was all false. Nothing mattered, and consequently everything did. He could speak his mind. No consequences. “I lied to you. I used you. Don’t say you’re sorry.”</p><p>Johnny still came after that. Stupid, stupid boy.</p><p>One day Daken felt it, everything inside him shutting down. He didn’t feel pain, but he felt the emptiness. Alarms blared and Reed rushed to his side. Daken thought with detachment that this was the second time he died under Reed’s tender care. He wheezed. What was the lesson there? What was the hidden meaning?</p><p>“Gre’nsun,” he slurred, half-remembering from such a long, long time ago. It had something to do with green suns.</p><p>“What was that, Daken?” Reed said distractedly. He was doing something with the drip. Augmenting the morphine, perhaps. It would make Daken slip into nothingness, but it was a kindness that wouldn't matter.</p><p>Nothing mattered.</p><p>“Green suns,” Daken said, all the same, suddenly possessed by a sharp, single-minded focus. He’d got it, he thought. He’d almost got it. “Out of th’ core…”</p><p>Reed’s eyes widened almost comically. Daken, drugged out of his mind but too weak to laugh, wheezed pathetically.</p><p>“Since <em>when?</em> God, Daken, why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>Yes, why? Daken stared up at him, uncomprehending, Reed’s face surrounded by shadows. Tunnel-vision. It was all going away. He was slipping away.</p><p>It didn't matter. Nothing did.</p><p>“You need to tell me!” Reed said, his voice coming from far, far away. “Next time, the first thing you do, <em>tell -</em>”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>III.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p>
<p>Daken tuned out Sinatra’s voice and tossed the Wolverine doll back into the pile, to be immediately picked up by a boy. He turned on his feet and left.</p>
<p>What was this, then? A game of clues? A cooperative effort? Did he need to join forces with the scientist in order to get out of this nightmare?</p>
<p>All right, he’d bite. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. His sanity, perhaps, but it was long gone.</p>
<p>Reed welcomed him to his lab with a side-eye, a bit weary since Daken’s theft from a while back. Ages ago, to Daken. “You said it was urgent,” he said, motioning for Daken to speak.</p>
<p><em>I’m dying</em>, Daken thought, <em>and some gods thought it would be fun to play with me before I relieved the world of my presence.</em></p>
<p>“Green suns are coming out of the core,” he drawled.</p>
<p>Reed stilled. “Fascinating,” he murmured, and then he was a blur of motion, pulling Daken under a ridiculous giant microscope. “When did it start? Did you touch anything out of the ordinary?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.” Daken eyed the man. He seemed entirely aware, too much to be a construct. The phrase was a password, a cheat sheet. “Why, did you? Are you trapped in this vision too?”</p>
<p>“A vision?” Reed pushed up to his hair the goggles he’d just donned. He was frowning. “I don’t think it’s a vision. And the me who told you those words certainly didn’t, and he <em>was </em>real or he wouldn’t have known the words. I never thought I’d actually <em>use</em> them, but -”</p>
<p>He was going off on a tangent, like he was wont to do. “I’m literally dying here, Reed.”</p>
<p>“You’re in a time loop,” Reed said, self-explanatory.</p>
<p>Daken stared at him. Then he laughed. A <em>time loop!</em> Oh, sure! Such wishful thinking. Perhaps he really was hallucinating then. Dreaming up <em>what-should-have-beens </em>on his dying bed.</p>
<p>“I’m done here. I’ll see you <em>next time.</em>” He made to get up, but Reed pressed down on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“You’re not convinced.”</p>
<p>“Oh? What gave it away?” Daken shrugged the man off. He was still strong enough to do so without straining, but that would change as the day went by. “Ridiculous.”</p>
<p>“More than a vision?” Reed stepped back, allowing him to stand up. “Time travel <em>is</em> possible, you know.”</p>
<p>“Time travel, yes. And visions, too; I had gods decide I was a plaything before.” He shuddered, not thinking about the Norns. “But the idea that time bends itself on a whim so that <em>you</em>, personally, can resolve your issues, is laughably self-centered.”</p>
<p>“Is it?” Reed’s gaze was piercing, too much for Daken’s taste. “Do you have regrets then?”</p>
<p>Daken didn't deign that with an answer, his stomach churning. Regrets, regrets. They were a fool’s last hiding place. “We’re done here.”</p>
<p>“Please, Daken, I <em>do</em> want to help you. It can’t have been pleasant.” Reed put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It needn’t be a metaphysical, profound reason. You could have come into contact with something; some machine, an artifact -”</p>
<p>“I didn't <em>come into contact </em>with anything.” Daken gritted his teeth. But he allowed Richards to steer him towards a stool, not knowing what possessed him.</p>
<p>Oh, he knew. He ached for a way out; he could end it then, end it permanently. He could finally be free from this torment.</p>
<p>“Well, humor me. Talk me through it.”</p>
<p>“It starts this morning,” Daken began, as Reed moved around him, pulling down instruments from the ceiling. “Just a few minutes before I come here. It ends with my death. It usually lasts a day.” He hesitated. “Last time it took longer, but I don’t remember how much.”</p>
<p>Reed had stilled. “You die within a day?”</p>
<p>“Don’t <em>make</em> that face, I’m used to it. Healing factor, remember?”</p>
<p>He chuckled. Reed couldn’t get the joke, but his face was doing something utterly unbearable. Daken looked away.</p>
<p>“It’s just that… It doesn’t seem we have much time to work on this,” Reed said softly, looking at him through a lens. “How do you die exactly?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s relevant.” He didn’t want a way out of <em>that</em>. He just wanted a way out of this trap. A <em>time loop</em>. “It varies, anyway.”</p>
<p>“It might be linked.” Reed was pursing his lips, thinking. “Tell me about the first time. I assume it… <em>happened</em> when you died?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I died and came back. I thought I was hallucinating.”</p>
<p>“But <em>how </em>did you die? Obviously with your healing factor death is hardly permanent, but -”</p>
<p>Daken laughed. He couldn't help it, he just laughed, and laughed. It was slightly shrill; he felt slightly hysterical. Reed stared at him, alarmed. Then he finally caught up.</p>
<p>“You said the loop starts this morning, but you contacted me yesterday. And you said it was important. What was it, Daken? Is it something… Your healing factor -?”</p>
<p>Daken sobered up. “I knew you were smart.”</p>
<p>“You’re <em>literally dying</em>,” Reed muttered, recalling Daken’s earlier quip. “But how?”</p>
<p>“Oh, simple hubris, Reed. I found a drug that worked despite my healing factor, and I took it in such high quantities that it <em>fried</em> my healing factor.” Daken shrugged. “And now my healing factor is attacking my healthy cells. Or so you tell me.”</p>
<p>“Or so I tell you,” Reed murmured. “What drug?”</p>
<p>Daken fished a pill out of his pocket, then thought better of it and poured them all in his cupped hand. He held it out for inspection. Reed grabbed a container, motioning for him to put them inside. Daken complied. “It’s called Heat. You don’t know it, it was new on the L.A. market.”</p>
<p>Reed hummed. He stepped away, to look at one of the pills under the huge microscope. Daken busied himself by staring at the wall.</p>
<p>A time loop. Could it be? It seemed so absurd, so random. Why him, why this day?</p>
<p>He hadn’t touched any strange machinery, he was sure of it.</p>
<p>“This is <em>fascinating,</em>” Reed muttered, fingers working on the controllers. “The core component, it seems -”</p>
<p>“Blood.” Daken crossed his arms. Reed kept studying the pills until Daken scoffed. “Shouldn't you be focusing on how to <em>stop </em>this thing?”</p>
<p>Reed stepped away from the microscope, eyeing him sharply. “The way I see it, our best bet is to restart your healing factor. Then I can focus on the time loop proper -”</p>
<p>“Whoa, like <em>Groundhog Day?</em>”</p>
<p>Daken stilled. Johnny. Johnny was here. Of course Johnny was here, Johnny was <em>always </em>there, alive and well, a stab to Daken’s guts. Even when Daken wasn’t in <em>this</em> room, Johnny always found him, wherever he was. Knowing that, Daken should have expected it. Even not remembering that, he should have smelt Johnny approach the room.</p>
<p>And because he felt trapped, he lashed out with a snarl. “It’s a <em>science fiction </em>trope, you idiot, but of course you’re so stupid you know it from that joke of a <em>comedy.</em>”</p>
<p>Silence. Daken felt hollow, so fucking hollow. Reed was staring at him with that fucking piercing gaze, as if he had it all figured out. Daken turned, his chest heavy, and saw Johnny in the doorway, just as stunning as every time. Just as hurt. The only thing Daken ever did was hurting this poor boy.</p>
<p>Johnny grimaced. “I thought you’d be pleased to -”</p>
<p>“<em>Real</em> people,” Daken began, but he saw the hurt, the hurt he’d bestowed every time, that hollowness in Johnny’s face that he carved with his words. He couldn’t. He couldn't cause it again. He turned towards Reed. “Do what you have to, then. Just make this <em>stop.</em>”</p>
<p>Reed tilted his head.</p>
<p>Daken was relocated to the med bay. He lay in a damn bed and let Reed work. He even gave him permission to reach out to Logan, to study his healing factor. He didn’t look forward to seeing his father.</p>
<p>Dammit. <em>Dammit. </em>This was the bed he’d died in last time. Logan had sat in that chair, had poured his heart out to Daken. Daken couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t happened, that he hadn’t wondered what would be if only he hadn't made such a mess of things. If only he’d tried to counter the hate that had been instilled in him. Oh, Logan had made his share of unforgivable mistakes but Daken had, too. Yes, he <em>had</em>.</p>
<p>He needn’t have fretted. Those heartfelt soliloquies <em>hadn’t </em>happened, and when Logan peered into the room later that day, he only saw his disappointment of a son.</p>
<p>“What did you get into, this time?” he asked, sounding so tired.</p>
<p>Daken looked away, trying to push that melancholy under the carpet. “You weren't there to teach me not to do drugs, daddy.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Logan sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I still bother. You’ve made your choice.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I have.” Daken stared at the ceiling. His chest ached. “But you came anyway.”</p>
<p>He’d told Donna that no one had ever come back for him, but that wasn't true, was it? Logan always had. Logan kept coming back, no matter how fucking much Daken hurt him. He had such a martyr complex, it was infuriating.</p>
<p>“I gotta get to Reed,” Logan said, voice strangled. “Hang tight, okay?”</p>
<p>He left. Johnny came in. Daken studiously watched the shadows dancing on the ceiling.</p>
<p>“So,” Johnny said, quiet and careful. “You’re dying, and… and you keep dying.”</p>
<p>Daken took a breath. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>Johnny approached, slowly; every step he took made Daken tremble. Johnny stopped by the bed. “May I?”</p>
<p>Daken nodded.</p>
<p>The mattress didn't dip with Johnny’s weight, and Daken fought the disappointment. Johnny took the chair instead.</p>
<p>“It’s gonna be alright,” he murmured.</p>
<p>Daken shut his eyes. “You said that once before.”</p>
<p>“Only once?” Johnny clasped his hand. He was warm; he’d always been so warm.</p>
<p>“I keep hurting you.”</p>
<p>Silence. Johnny’s breathing was quiet, his heartbeat steady. It was soothing.</p>
<p>“I think you can get a pass.” Johnny squeezed his hand. “You’re -”</p>
<p>“No.” His throat was dry. He didn't want to open his eyes.</p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been using you,” he confessed. “I only got close to you so that I could exploit your family.” He listened to the stutter of Johnny’s breath, the wild dance of his heartbeat. “It’s nothing to do with my death. That’s just who I am.”</p>
<p>Johnny pulled his hand away. It was as it should be; but he didn’t get up, he didn’t leave. He just sat there, until his breathing was under control, until his heartbeat calmed.</p>
<p>“So it’s never been real, then?”</p>
<p>It had been. It was the realer Daken had ever felt. Not a cold thing, but a being of flesh and bone. No lost puppet.</p>
<p>He’d fled. He’d fled, damn him, and then he’d returned and he’d lied and he’d stolen and he’d kissed Johnny and he’d felt so <em>wrong </em>for what he was doing, so monstrous. He’d planned to go even further that night on the rooftop, to tie Johnny to him, but he <em>couldn't</em> and he’d fled <em>again</em>. Uneasiness tearing at him. He’d pushed it all away but then Johnny had died and it had <em>torn</em> at him, a gaping absence that he tried to cover with anger and other pursuits, with the conquering of L.A. Hiding the truth from himself.</p>
<p>The vivid Heat hallucinations hadn’t been merciful, that ghost of a dead man telling Daken ‘<em>I was delighted when I heard you were going to join us here</em>’, that stark sense of loss. He’d never cared this much before. Afterwards, when it was over, he’d latched onto Donna, needing to feel, to chase that ache away. An ache that only worsened when he saw that Johnny had come back, that he was alive. His own looming mortality had exacerbated everything, and when he saw Johnny again, alive, in front of him, he could only lash out, and seeing the hurt he’d bestowed, and feeling that <em>ache</em> in his chest, he knew that he was dying and it was better this way, that he would only ever hurt Johnny.</p>
<p>‘<em>I dreamed of you</em>,’ he wanted to say, oh, he ached to say it, ‘<em>while you were dead. I missed you. I…</em>’</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you expected,” he exhaled.</p>
<p>Johnny inhaled sharply. “Right. I… Right.”</p>
<p>Johnny got up, and left, leaving Daken alone with his thoughts, with his decaying flesh.</p>
<p>Reed came sometime later, to check on something or the other. He put some liquid in the drip.</p>
<p>“Let’s try this,” he muttered. “Let me know if you feel queasy.”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>Reed made to leave, but then he lingered in the doorway. “You know, you don’t have to push people away.”</p>
<p>“I’ll keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>“I just think -”</p>
<p>An alarm blared and Reed evoked a hologram from his wrist watch. Daken watched, foreboding dread in his veins.</p>
<p>“Bombs,” Reed whispered, blanching. “All over the city. We need to -”</p>
<p>“Don’t let me keep you,” Daken said. Reed ran.</p>
<p>Daken cursed himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was real. This was <em>happening</em>. This morning he’d still thought it was some construct, that nothing mattered, but Reed had dispelled that notion quickly. He should have said. He should have <em>warned </em>them.</p>
<p>Daken eyed the drip, considered fleeing, and decided against it. If this concoction worked, perhaps he wouldn’t die when Logan barged into the room to stab him.</p>
<p>It didn't take long for the cavalry to come back. Logan was <em>fuming</em>, but Thor held him back. Johnny was grief-stricken. Reed looked so disappointed. They all smelt of blood. Their costumes were bloodied too.</p>
<p>“What are you <em>playing </em>at?” Logan snarled. “What’s your plan, what’s your fucking -”</p>
<p>“The cloaking devices are just smoke and mirrors, but there’s a bomb in Times Square,” Daken said. “If you give me a map I’ll point out its location. It goes off at 2 a.m.”</p>
<p>Silence followed his declaration. Johnny slumped against the wall, pale. Logan just <em>stared </em>at him, encased by the powerful frame of his teammate. Thor looked down at him, considering. Reed came to the bed and shoved a holographic map at him. Daken studied it, enlarged a section, and crossed the exact point.</p>
<p>“You got that, Tony?” Reed wasn't looking at the map. He was staring at Daken with the piercing eyes of a scientist.</p>
<p>“<em>Yes,</em>” came Iron-Man’s voice, from Reed’s watch. “<em>Stand-by</em>.” They waited. The silence was deafening. Daken shut his eyes. “<em>Bomb defused.</em>”</p>
<p>“Are there <em>others -</em>” Johnny exploded.</p>
<p>“No.” Daken squinted his eyes shut. The devastation in Johnny’s voice made him feel so small, made him want to beg forgiveness. “I… I forgot.”</p>
<p>“You <em>forgot?</em>” Johnny laughed hysterically. “You… You just forgot -”</p>
<p>“He’s in a time loop,” Reed reminded them all. Oh, excellent excuse. “He’s been thinking it was a vision, remember? Did it all blur, Daken?”</p>
<p>Why the hell was Reed throwing him a life line?</p>
<p>“He still put them <em>up!” </em>Johnny snarled.</p>
<p><em>“</em>No one <em>dies,</em>” Daken cried out, anguished. Oh, that crack in Johnny’s voice was unbearable. “No one ever dies.” Except him. “A few limbs gone at most, and -”</p>
<p>But was he sure of it? <em>Perfectly </em>sure? Could he stake - ah! - his life on it?</p>
<p>“<em>No one</em> dies in <em>Times Square?</em>” Logan growled.</p>
<p>“It’s empty by that moment! It’s not even a big bomb, just enough to -”</p>
<p>Daken broke off. No. He wasn’t going to say it, he wasn't going to <em>confess </em>this.</p>
<p>“To?” Johnny demanded, voice shrill. “<em>To?</em>”</p>
<p>“To kill him,” Thor said, voice booming. “Aye? A craven way out.”</p>
<p>“<em>What?</em>” Johnny croaked, after a stunned beat. “No -”</p>
<p>“A sick play to make his grand exit. I’m used to such things.” Thor’s voice kept stabbing him, again and again. A craven, aye. “I’ll go lend my efforts to the good people of New York. They’re in dire need of it.”</p>
<p>He went. Daken kept his eyes shut. Johnny was hyperventilating. At last, with the wet cry of <em>‘a few limbs gone at most’</em>, he went too. Logan choked out, ‘<em>God, son</em>,’ his voice wretched, and then he was gone too.</p>
<p>Reed didn’t leave. He moved around, and checked Daken’s vitals. He pinched the drip and released it, humming.</p>
<p>Daken opened his eyes and watched him work for a while. “You aren’t going to throw me out?”</p>
<p>“No.” Reed clenched his jaw. “I’m not that kind of man.”</p>
<p>“Lucky me,” Daken breathed.</p>
<p>“Yes. You are.”</p>
<p>Reed left.</p>
<p>Well. He’d honestly deserved this. He’d made this bed and he’d die in it. He stared at the windows, at the smoke still visible in some areas. He’d done that. He’d done that and maimed stupid passers-by just to kill himself. They were nobodies, but they didn’t deserve to be maimed for his ploy. They had no healing factors. They were just… people.</p>
<p>Normal people.</p>
<p>The shadow coming into the room some hours later would have startled him awake if he’d been asleep, but he was too high-strung to sleep.</p>
<p>Doctor Strange cut an imposing figure, his cloak billowing behind him. He looked down on Daken, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.</p>
<p>“I hear you’re stuck in a time loop.”</p>
<p>Daken stared up at the looming sorcerer. “So it seems.”</p>
<p>“And these explosions happened the first time too? <em>Before </em>the loop began?” the man drawled.</p>
<p>Daken’s blood ran cold, anticipation coiling tight in his stomach. Did the man know why this was happening? “Yes.”</p>
<p>“I thought so.” Doctor Strange nodded. “You’ve blown up my Sanctum Sanctorum.”</p>
<p>Shit<em>.</em></p>
<p>“Only the outer wall,” Daken protested, feeling faint.</p>
<p>Oh, <em>shit</em>.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes. That’s true.” The man nodded. “You’ve still triggered a curse, though.”</p>
<p>“A <em>curse?</em>” Daken struggled to sit up. “What kind - How do I get <em>out -</em>”</p>
<p>“Oh, I have no idea.” Doctor Strange distractedly rubbed his goatee. “Fickle things, those curses. I’m afraid only you can find your way out of it.”</p>
<p>“You must have <em>some </em>idea!”</p>
<p>“I <em>could</em>,” the man conceded, his eyes cold, “but telling you would defy its purpose, wouldn’t it?”</p>
<p>He vanished into thin air. Daken snarled.</p>
<p>Asshole. Fucking <em>asshole! </em>Its <em>purpose? </em>Had Daken been right, then, in a way, and this torment was supposed to teach him a lesson?</p>
<p>He was <em>done </em>suffering lessons from others. He was done! Why not just let him die? Wasn’t that punishment enough?</p>
<p>But it wasn’t, was it? Because Daken had <em>wanted </em>to die. He’d engineered it. And the curse had sensed it, and -</p>
<p>Daken fell back against the pillow, panting. He dragged his hands over his face, and contemplated just unsheathing his claws.</p>
<p>But that wouldn’t free him. He’d just begin again, and again, and again -</p>
<p>Something <em>cracked</em> and he broke into sobs. He hadn’t cried like this ever since he was a boy. He’d learnt young to quench such displays.</p>
<p>Pointless. It was all pointless.</p>
<p>Johnny found him like that, some time later. He appeared in the doorway and he stood there, frozen, watching Daken cry his eyes out, and Daken thought he’d leave, but then Johnny came over, and he climbed beside him, on the bed, and he <em>held</em> him. Daken didn’t deserve that. He cried harder, trying to pull away.</p>
<p>“No, I… <em>No…</em>”</p>
<p>“Shhh. Shhh. It’s gonna be alright, okay? It’s gonna be alright.”</p>
<p>“It’s <em>not -</em>” Daken fought against the <em>ache</em>, Johnny’s body behind him, his arms wrapped around Daken. “I <em>used </em>you -”</p>
<p>“I know, Daken.” Johnny kept holding him, warm and comforting. He shushed Daken, softly.</p>
<p>“<em>Why?” </em>Daken clung at Johnny’s arms, gasping. “W-why would you -”</p>
<p>“I can’t just leave you like this, can I?” Johnny squeezed, a hand stroking Daken’s shoulder. “It’s alright, okay? We’re going to find a way. It’s alright.”</p>
<p>Stupid… <em>Stupid </em>boy…</p>
<p>Daken clung to him like a lifeline, wracked by spasms. His entire body ached. He didn’t deserve this, but he’d take this comfort. Damn him, he would. It was warm and safe in Johnny’s arms. Like that night on the rooftop. He could pretend that this wasn't happening, that he wasn’t stuck, no way out in sight. He could pretend that Johnny’s words were true, that it was going to be alright.</p>
<p>Eventually, his sobs began to quieten. Johnny kept holding him as they trickled to nothing, and then held him a beat longer.</p>
<p>“Water?” he asked. Daken nodded. Johnny let go of him, and Daken mourned the absence. Johnny took the bottle left on the nightstand and poured some water in a plastic cup.</p>
<p>Daken took it, unable to look up at Johnny, to see his eyes. He drank as Johnny kept silent. He was still on the bed. His presence radiated soft heat.</p>
<p>Daken finished the water and sat there, his gaze fixed on the cup in his hand. It was still dark, outside. Why was Johnny here? Maybe he couldn't sleep. Maybe he’d been roaming the corridors, still thinking about Daken maiming bystanders.</p>
<p>“You want some more?” Johnny asked. Daken shook his head. Johnny took the cup from his hand.</p>
<p>His fingers were so warm.</p>
<p>“How many times has the loop been happening, Daken?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Too many.</em>
</p>
<p>“Not that many,” Daken said.</p>
<p>His voice was hoarse. Of course he saw the opportunity, the way to appeal to Johnny’s goodwill: ‘<em>Oh, just so many, I’m so sick of this, I didn't realize people would get hurt! Silly me.</em>’</p>
<p>No, he simply hadn’t cared. That was the kind of man he was. Finally Johnny could see it.</p>
<p>“Do you -” Johnny hesitated. “Did you really want to die?”</p>
<p>Oh, God, he couldn't do this. “I <em>am </em>dying,” Daken said slowly. He didn't look up. “I wanted to bring with me as much destruction as possible. To make a point.”</p>
<p>“A point.” Johnny pulled away. That was how it should be. “People got hurt, Daken.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you <em>care?</em>”</p>
<p>“I honestly didn’t, no.”</p>
<p>Johnny got up. “Right. Stupid me. Stupid -” He laughed, wet and hysterical and so terribly hurt. “Well. I’m gonna get some sleep. You do too, or not. I don’t care.”</p>
<p>He fled.</p>
<p>Daken stared up at the ceiling, at the shadows. He was exhausted.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>IV.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Daken stared down at the Wolverine doll in his hands while Sinatra sang about second chances. This curse had a sick sense of humor.</p><p>He frowned.</p><p>He hadn’t died this time. Had he? In his sleep, perhaps? A slightly gentler death. He hoped no one had been in the room to see him die. Or maybe Logan had come back. God, he hoped not. Logan had seen him die enough times already. Johnny certainly couldn't have been there to see him, Daken had made sure of it, at least that -</p><p>So. He was cursed.</p><p>Daken tossed the Wolverine doll back into the pile, and left the store.</p><p>He was cursed to relive this day, again and again, until he learned his lesson. Such a fucking sadistic punishment, he hadn't thought Doctor Strange had it in him. And the curse wouldn't let him just die. Oh, no, because that would be escaping his punishment.</p><p>Was there a loophole? If he was <em>cured</em>, if he regained his healing factor and so could never die, would the curse simply stop working? But that would mean that he’d lose his way out...</p><p>He stopped walking, there on the sidewalk. A passer-by cursed at him and side-stepped him. Daken ignored him.</p><p>Did he want to regain his way out? Did he still want to die?</p><p>‘<em>Did you really want to die?’ </em>Johnny had asked, with that wretched voice.</p><p>While he was dying, yes. Better to leave on his own terms. While he was trapped, yes, chasing sweet relief from this nightmare. But what if he was free? Would he still want to -</p><p>Let’s not lie to himself. He’d been wanting to die for a very long time. That ache had always been there, in the background, simmering. A death wish after the other, even while he told himself that he was to be king of the world. Molded by suffering that had made him cold, but hadn’t made him unfeeling, no matter how much he pretended it did, latching to a label of psycopathy to hide. Oh, would that he were!</p><p>He’d always wanted to die. And lately, after all the revelations, after his constant failures, that desire had been brought to the forefront.</p><p>If Reed managed to restart his healing factor, he’d be left stranded again. Chasing nothingness, hurting himself. Seeking out stimuli to dull his senses. Unable to get away, always fearing that if he found another way to die, then the curse could start again.</p><p>There must be another way out. A lesson -</p><p>Did he really need to learn a lesson, after all the lessons he’d learned, carved and beaten into submission? Did he really have to submit to the indignity and be a good little boy and -</p><p>How <em>hard </em>could it be? His life had been a constant learning experience.</p><p>A lesson, then. Daken resumed walking. What kind of lesson? He thought back to the previous loops, to the day before it started. To the ache in his chest, from the last time. A glaring constant of each loop seemed to be his total disregard for the casualties of his suicidal scheme.</p><p>So the lesson was to cherish human life? Did it apply to today only? He was a <em>murderer</em>. He’d killed many, <em>many </em>people. He could swear off it, sure, he had many other talents, and anyway he had so little time left -</p><p>Daken went around the city and disarmed all the bombs he’d planted. There, done. No one would get hurt. The city was saved. Nothing would happen tonight. No one would ever die from his hands again. Good enough?</p><p>It had to be. He walked around aimlessly, restless. Saw all the people around him, all the fools who could have been hurt tonight. ‘<em>A few limbs gone at most</em>’. He pictured them without a leg, without their arms. In his long life, he’d done far worse than that.</p><p>He pictured them losing limbs again and again, loop after loop. Screaming for help. Over and over again, the same amount of time Daken had spent in this hell: they had too.</p><p>Everyone was trapped here with him, condemned to repeat everything again and again. The only difference was that they didn’t remember.</p><p>He rushed to an alley and threw up. People gave him a wide berth, a few kids snickering. They wouldn't laugh if he stabbed them.</p><p>Just for a mocking laughter?</p><p>‘<em>People got hurt, Daken</em>,’ Johnny had said. ‘<em>Don’t you care?’</em></p><p>Oh, but that was the beauty of it, wasn't it? He’d been molded to be a killing machine, to see everyone as disposable. Didn't he get a pass for that?</p><p>Oh, good excuse. No, really, <em>perfect</em> excuse. What about the clone, then? Laura. His father’s clone, trained in a facility to be a murdering machine, used and abused just like him. She didn’t see people as disposable. She saw them as a strength. She <em>cared</em>.</p><p>He’d always been a little fucker, ever since he was a kid. Let’s not mince words there. He hadn’t cared about the people in the village; he hadn’t cared about Natsumi’s child. He hadn't cared about Natsumi. Oh, he’d been bullied and Natsumi didn't love him, and so? Lots of kids had that problem, and didn't end up murdering their bully in cold blood. They didn't end up doing what he’d done in that household.</p><p>Lots of kids didn’t get controlled from the shadows and then snatched away.</p><p>He was going in circles. He wiped the vomit off his mouth, his hand already wrinkled. The truth was that he was a disease to this world. And everyone would be better off without him. The only thing he ever did was hurt. A few weeks holed away, not hurting anyone, and it would end. He could bear it all for a few weeks.</p><p>He bought some groceries, and prepared to hole himself up in a safehouse. As the illness progressed he wouldn’t want to move anymore, too weak to stand, but he’d think about that when the time came.</p><p>He showered, avoiding to look at himself in the mirror, at the skin already sagging around the edges, at the thin wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.</p><p>He ate, and went to bed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Startled, Daken squeezed the Wolverine doll, hard. It made a pathetic dying sound. Sinatra kept mocking him. Daken let go of the doll as if it had burned him.</p><p>He’d died in his sleep again. There must be some complication on the first night, one that Reed had only been able to catch that one time, when Logan had brought Daken straight from the safehouse.</p><p>All right, time to think. No one could ever say that he wasn't persistent. Something was still missing: what?</p><p>Perhaps he ought to be more proactive. Perhaps it didn't count if he just preempted harm that he’d provoked himself. Perhaps he ought to go around the city, and save people.</p><p>He could do that. Hadn’t he been an Avenger?</p><p>He disarmed the bombs first, and then went about patrolling the city. It couldn't be that hard; the crime rate was so high. He only had to walk around and he was bound to stumble upon something…</p><p>Or not. The city was swarmed with heroes, all with their little turf. He ducked out of view more than once, unwilling to be spotted by some acquaintance of Logan. How did they get so quickly where they were needed? Did they have a system that alerted them?</p><p>It wasn’t as easy as it looked. When he was in the Avengers, he’d had people monitoring the streets and aiming him at the target. Publicity stunts, mostly; the real threats were elsewhere.</p><p>And now he was a shadow of his former self, no longer indestructible. As he discovered when he finally found a mugging in an alley, no heroes in sight, and stepped in, and so focused he was on not letting the poor victim get hurt, that he was stabbed.</p><p>Everyone scrambled; the man he’d saved too, the fucker. Daken lay in a pool of his blood and prayed that at least this would break the curse.</p><p>Then he heard an ambulance in the distance, and a voice, the man he’d just saved… he hadn’t left, he’d called for help…</p><p>“Hurry! He’s here, he’s -”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Daken <em>hated </em>this song. He threw the doll into the pile and went out on business. First he disarmed the bombs, then off he went. He saved the man from the previous day, luring him away from the alley, and then went to patrol a different area.</p><p>He must be onto something. There was nothing else for him to do, no other lesson to learn; this must be it. Save people.</p><p>He had better luck this time. He stopped a few petty crimes and went to sleep with the satisfaction of a job well done. This was it, this was the end -</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p>Daken wanted to <em>scream. </em>He tossed the Wolverine doll into the pile and grabbed at the stall, feeling his knees buckle.</p><p>He couldn’t understand. He <em>was </em>doing what was asked of him: no one had gotten hurt from his bombs, and he was saving people. Why didn’t it work? Why was he still here?</p><p>He was doing what was asked of him, he was <em>sure</em> of it -</p><p>What other lesson could there possibly be?</p><p>He was making a spectacle of himself, standing there hyperventilating in a panic. He stumbled out of the store and attempted to take a hold of himself.</p><p>If leaving alone innocent bystanders wasn't the lesson, what the goddamn fuck was it?</p><p>If he died every damn night, how could he have the time to figure a way out of this wretched play? If disarming the bombs wasn’t the answer, if it didn't matter how many fucking civilians he saved, what was it that he was supposed to do? How could he be expected to just <em>know</em>, if he kept dying, progressively decaying throughout the day until he couldn't keep going and he <em>had </em>to rest? If he didn’t even get the time to <em>think</em>, if even not getting himself <em>killed </em>didn't give him enough time, how could he be expected to <em>learn?</em></p><p>It was like the impossible lessons Romulus used to bestow, where everything he did was wrong, where there was no right answer, where the only objective was to <em>destroy</em> him...</p><p>He fought to breathe. Was he going to reset every day? And again and again and again and…</p><p>Claustrophobia tore at his throat.</p><p>Next he knew, he was pounding on the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum in a frenzy. Doctor Strange’s valet answered, eyeing him with distaste. Daken was trying to get past him - the man was surprisingly sturdy - when the sorcerer himself appeared, still looking so damn superior. Daken reined himself in with some effort.</p><p>“You have an unpleasant aura. State your business.”</p><p>“I’m <em>sorry</em>,” Daken gritted out. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll do anything, just take this curse off. <em>Please.</em>”</p><p>He wasn't a stranger to begging.</p><p>Doctor Strange arched an eyebrow. “Come in, then.”</p><p>Daken went. Everything in the house made his hairs stand on end; he felt on edge, slick darkness ticking by. There was a looming air all around him, tendrils of uneasiness slithering towards him. It made him shudder.</p><p>“Ah, my apologies. It seems you’re more perceptive than most. Your father’s just the same.” Doctor Strange led him to an alcove where the oppressive air dissipated. Daken could breathe again. “Now. I don’t recall cursing you, but I<em> do </em>sense my magical signature.”</p><p>“Great,” Daken said. “Can you -”</p><p>Doctor Strange lifted a hand, the gesture alone commanding enough that it turned Daken’s tongue into lead. Strange hummed. “Time magic. Tricky, tricky. What did you <em>do?</em>”</p><p>Daken took a breath. Humble. He could do humble. He’d had enough practice. He’d keep it short, and to the point. “I caused an explosion in the outer wall. It triggered a curse. I’m stuck in a time loop.”</p><p>“Ah.” Strange nodded. “Yes. Yes, I see it.”</p><p>He said nothing else, just peering down at him with sharp eyes. Daken plunged on.</p><p>“It’s still outside, the bomb - I set it up before the loop -”</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>“I’ll disarm it,” Daken concluded. “And the others… The others I set up.”</p><p>“Oh, no need.” Strange moved his hands, possibly in an incantation. “The bombs are gone. You can go now. Thanks for telling me.”</p><p>He looked down at Daken. Daken felt faint. He hadn’t fainted in decades, but he was sure that he <em>would </em>faint. “The curse…”</p><p>Strange scoffed. “Did you think that just by stopping the bombs <em>you </em>set up, you’d get out?”</p><p>“No, I…” But he couldn't speak. Hell, he couldn’t <em>breathe.</em></p><p>“Go. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”</p><p>“<em>Please,” </em>he blurted out. He’d prostrate himself, he’d <em>debase</em> himself, he wasn’t past it, he’d done it all his life, he could do it. It was a second skin. He could do it. “I’m sorry, I <em>swear</em> I’m sorry, please -”</p><p>Hands on his shoulders. He felt feverish, adrift. He keened. He was sweating.</p><p>“Don’t do that.” An urgent command, a hint of disgust beneath. Daken felt abject dread. “Don’t <em>kneel</em>.”</p><p>Nimble fingers pried Daken’s fists open. He was clutching at the cloak. It moved. It was alive. “P-p-please, master, I’ll be good -”</p><p>“I’m not the one who hurt you.” Hands on his shoulders, again. He was being pulled up. He was shaking, shaking. He didn’t dare looking up, he couldn't risk displeasing his master further. He stared at the jewel in front of him. “Look at me. Look <em>up</em>.”</p><p>The tone was all wrong. It was kind, almost. It wasn’t his master.</p><p>He had <em>no </em>master.</p><p>Daken tore his gaze away from the jewel, furious with himself, with the situation. With what he’d just shown, and to a complete stranger, no less.</p><p>Doctor Strange met his eyes with a solemn gaze, some uneasiness in it. “That’s it. You’re free. You’re a free man.”</p><p>He didn’t react when Daken stepped back with a snarl, merely raising his hands from Daken’s shoulders. Daken coiled himself.</p><p>“Pretty words,” he said stiffly. “And yet you won’t lift the curse.”</p><p>Strange sighed. “I really am sorry. But I quite literally <em>cannot</em> help you.” He smelt truthful enough. “It’s ancient magic. You have to make your own journey within it.”</p><p>“Learn my <em>lesson.</em>”</p><p>“Goodness, no.” Strange shook his head, his lips curled in disgust; the uneasiness doubled. “It’s nothing quite so crude. It’s not even a curse, per se.”</p><p>“It feels like it.” Daken wrapped his arms around himself. “You <em>said </em>it was a curse.”</p><p>“I probably was being difficult,” Strange said slowly. “I imagine people died.”</p><p>“No.” Daken shifted, then conceded the point. “People were hurt.”</p><p>“That would do it, yes.” Strange’s gaze pierced him. “It’s truly not a curse. I <em>can </em>tell you that it reacts to intent… <em>real </em>intent. It tailors itself to the recipient. It’s out of my hands. Only you can find your way out, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“And if I don’t?”</p><p>An eternity like this. It was enough to drive one mad. Daken felt himself already dangerously close to the edge.</p><p>“You will,” the sorcerer said, gazing upon him with an ancient gaze that made Daken shiver. “One way or the other.”</p><p>That wasn't ominous at all. “Death?”</p><p>Strange hissed. “I wouldn’t set up something that leads to permanent death. And… <em>dying</em> doesn’t free you from it either, it will just restart the loop. I know one might be driven to despair,” he eyed Daken, likely recalling the display he’d just witnessed, “but this magic <em>is </em>designed to be broken. The way out is within you. Have faith and -”</p><p>Daken let out a slightly unhinged laughter, knowing what Strange was about to say. <em>Have faith </em>and don’t kill yourself to escape. “I <em>am </em>dying, <em>Doctor </em>Strange. Of a terminal disease.”</p><p>Strange’s eyes flashed and he grimaced. “That… indeed complicates things.”</p><p>“You don’t say.”</p><p>He had a <em>journey </em>to make, but if he kept dying -</p><p>He would never get out of this curse.</p><p>“I really am sorry,” Strange said.</p><p>“Don’t be. I blew up your wall, didn’t I? And people got hurt.” Daken would only be reaping what he’d sown. “I’ll take my leave, then, if there’s nothing else.”</p><p>Strange raised a hand. He seemed about to clasp Daken’s shoulder again. Daken stepped back.</p><p>“There’s nothing else,” the sorcerer said, his lips a thin line.</p><p>Daken nodded. He followed the valet out of the mansion. He stood on the sidewalk in a stupor.</p><p>He truly had no one to blame except himself. He’d played with fire. What had possessed him, to target Doctor Strange’s Sanctum Sanctorum? Oh, yes, because targeting the Avengers’ mansion and the Baxter Building hadn’t been self-destructive enough; no, he’d really wanted to bring the full might of the city’s heroes upon himself. Craving punishment, really. Falling back on instincts that had been hammered in him, acting out, begging for someone strong enough to come and discipline him. How else to describe that entire fiasco? Sauntering from rooftop to rooftop, leading the chase, battled and beaten down, again and again. His foolish swan song, all meticulously planned. A cry for help.</p><p>He needed <em>help.</em></p><p>Not just for getting out of this <em>curse,</em> however else Strange wanted to call it; no, he needed <em>serious </em>help. For himself.</p><p>It had never hit him as clearly as it did now, faced with the sheer magnitude of what he was dealing with, faced with his misdeeds staring right at him. He’d relived this day enough times to know that it was all so wrong.</p><p>He was an intelligent man, so he could admit as much: he was a fucking <em>mess, </em>and he needed help.</p><p>And there was no way he’d ever get it, now. Even wanting to, oh, with all his might. He’d never get out of this curse. He’d never have time to… to…</p><p>What did he want to do with himself? After all the mess he’d done, after his failures. After all the harm he’d caused. He’d wanted to die, because what was the point? What was the fucking point? But now, but now -</p><p>He didn’t want this to be all that he’d ever been. Oh, he’d tried, he’d tried so many times to be his own man. But he’d gone about it the wrong fucking way, again and again. Truly a masterpiece of nihilistic mind-fuckery.</p><p>And now he was dying, and he’d keep dying, and he’d never be anything more. Just a footnote on a tome of ancient magic, a curiosity, a cautionary tale.</p><p>But what if… What if he didn’t die? What if he regained his healing factor, and then bested this curse by making his <em>journey</em>… whatever <em>that </em>meant? Then he’d be free. Then he could <em>change</em>. He could make a new man of himself. He had to try.</p><p>Hadn’t he failed already? In L.A. He’d tried to make a new man of himself. He’d failed spectacularly.</p><p>But perhaps he hadn’t… He hadn’t really tried. His heart hadn’t truly been in it, only focused on proving a point. But now, but now… Now he <em>knew</em>. Now he really understood.</p><p>Shit, he had to <em>try.</em></p><p>He made his way to the Baxter Building with a new determination. He’d get out of this hell. He’d get out, and be free, and change. He wasn’t stuck, he wasn’t what he’d been made into, he <em>refused</em> to believe it. He <em>had </em>to.</p><p>Johnny was heading out when Daken arrived. Daken saw him before Johnny did and oh, he fell <em>apart </em>every time he saw Johnny. He came undone.</p><p>Then Johnny caught sight of him, and grinned, and came towards him, a hand raised in greeting. “Daken!” he called out. “Man, it’s so good to see you!”</p><p>Oh, God, Johnny kept lighting up whenever he saw him, as if Daken could give him anything other than grief. And whose fault was that?</p><p>Johnny was better off without Daken. He ought to be kept at arm’s length.</p><p>Daken walked past him, fast, his chest clenching. Johnny called out again. “Hey! I thought you’d be pleased to -”</p><p>Don’t turn, Daken thought wildly. <em>Don’t</em> turn, don’t acknowledge Johnny. Relinquish this fucking hold you have on him, sever the ties, cut him free from you. He deserves to be left alone.</p><p>Johnny’s voice died and Daken, his heart heavy, so heavy, made his way to Reed’s lab.</p><p>The man in question was tinkering with one of his impossible contractions. “You’re late,” he threw Daken’s way. “I do have other things to do, Daken.”</p><p>“I know, sorry.” Daken came to a halt a few feet from the scientist. “I had something to take care of.”</p><p>Reed hummed. He didn’t look away from what he was doing. “So it wasn’t quite so urgent, then.”</p><p>“I’m dying,” Daken said. Startled, Reed finally raised his head, regarding him with wide eyes. Daken fished the Heat pills out of his pocket. “I took these drugs in such high quantities that they fried my healing factor. Now my healing factor is attacking my healthy cells. Please help me.”</p><p>“Of course.” Reed took the pills almost gingerly. He motioned to a stool. “Here, sit. Tell me everything.”</p><p>Daken did. He didn’t tell him about the time loop, because it wasn’t relevant. He only described everything to the best of his knowledge, even the symptoms he still wasn’t experiencing. Reed submitted him to all kinds of scans.</p><p>“My God,” he concluded. “It’s like you’re being eaten out from the inside. How can you even <em>stand</em> -”</p><p>“I have a high pain tolerance.” Daken shrugged. “Can you help me, Reed?”</p><p>He ended up in the med bay, in the same bed again. Of course he did. Reed insisted to dose him up with morphine, but Daken declined.</p><p>“I have to feel everything,” he said. “So I can tell you if something’s <em>wrong.</em> I have little time, Reed, I <em>feel</em> it.”</p><p>He was thinking about the oncoming complications, mere hours away. He had to retain all his faculties if he wanted to survive the night.</p><p>He <em>would </em>survive the night. He had to. And the one after that, and the one after <em>that</em>, and he’d regain his healing factor and all would be fine.</p><p>Reed nodded, pale. “I will do my best. Listen, I was thinking I might need to get your father here. Studying his healing factor could -”</p><p>“Do what you need to do.”</p><p>Daken lay in that bed, and waited. He would beat this. He was sure of it. Reed had more information than all the other times. And stopping that night’s complications was within his reach, because he’d independently managed to, that other time. Daken didn’t even remember anything coming up the first night that one time.</p><p>Johnny’s scent. Daken stiffened and Johnny came into the room, his face devastated. Always coming to Daken, always drawn like a moth. It wasn't right. It wasn't right for him.</p><p>Daken looked away. Johnny stopped by the bed, his scent a mess of worry. “I heard,” he choked out. “God, why didn't you tell me?”</p><p>Daken steeled himself. “I fail to see how it’s any of your business.”</p><p>Johnny put a hand on his arm and Daken pulled away, divining the stutter of Johnny’s breath. He needed to push Johnny <em>away.</em> But God, it hurt that he had to hurt Johnny to do so. “I’m your friend, Daken,” Johnny whispered.</p><p>“Some of us stay dead,” Daken said, hating himself for it. “<em>Some </em>of us don’t have the luxury of making a heroic comeback. If you even <em>were </em>dead. Or was it some stunt?”</p><p>Johnny was white as a sheet. “You don’t really think that. You’re lashing out -”</p><p>“I think it was awfully damn convenient that you showed up when you did.” God, let this end. He tasted ashes on his tongue. What else would it take to disillusion Johnny thoroughly? “I think you’d better have stayed dead.”</p><p>He regretted it as soon as he said it.</p><p>All blood seemed to have left Johnny’s face. It was horrible, it was horrifying, it made Daken want to retch -</p><p>But this was for the best. He had to let Johnny go.</p><p>“This isn’t you,” Johnny protested, voice faint. “Okay? I <em>know</em> that -”</p><p>“Yes it is, Johnny. I just never allowed you to see it.” But he had to see now. He had to get <em>away</em>. He was better off as far from Daken as he could. “And you’re so <em>stupid</em> that you fell for anything I said. Just as you’re so fucking stupid that you don't see that you standing here alive is an <em>insult</em>.”</p><p>Johnny stood there, utterly destroyed, staring down at him with grief-stricken horror. Then he turned on his feet and left without a word.</p><p>Good. That was… That was good. Better this way. Right? He’d done the right thing, right?</p><p>Right?</p><p>He needed to change and… and make himself accountable. <em>Protect</em> from himself those he’d hurt. But it ached, oh, it was unbearable.</p><p>Reed came into the room sometime later, ashen, simmering. He spoke with clipped tones, asking him questions, and added something to the drip with sharp gestures. He was angry on behalf of his brother-in-law. If his wife had been in the room in his stead, Daken would have faced much worse than this silent passive-aggressive reproach.</p><p>“<em>This</em>,” Reed hissed eventually, motioning at Daken’s body, “is terrible, but it doesn’t give you the right to damage other people.”</p><p>Daken stared up at him. He felt the wild need to defend himself, to make Reed see. He recalled how he’d drugged Reed the first time, how he’d pushed him off the rooftop. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I know.”</p><p>“I understand that you’re going through a difficult time. But once you’re better, and you <em>will </em>be, I expect you to <em>apologize</em> -”</p><p>“I can’t.”</p><p>“You can’t?” Reed spluttered. “You <em>can’t?”</em></p><p>“I’m bad for Johnny,” he whispered, looking away, clutching at the sheets. “I’m bad for <em>anyone</em> until I get a hold of myself. He had to see it. Better this way.”</p><p>Reed didn’t answer. He smelt utterly dumbstruck, taken aback.</p><p>“You do know that’s true,” Daken continued, staring at the wall in front of him. “He’s so naive, and I don’t trust myself… I’m a mess, Reed. I need to get better. He’d have kept coming back for me but now he won’t anymore. And even if you tell him any of this, he’ll still know what a fucking piece of work I am. He’ll steer clear.”</p><p>“That’s <em>insane</em>.”</p><p>Daken returned his gaze to Reed. He was staring at Daken as if Daken was utterly <em>mad.</em></p><p>“You’re not thinking clearly right now. Your brain is being affected too.” Anger forgotten, Reed activated his holographic watch to jot something down with a frown.</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Daken snarled, furious. “I’ve never been more clear-headed, and I’m <em>done</em> explaining away what I am and what I do with outside influences. I am a <em>bad</em> person and I need to change and I need to keep people <em>away</em> until I sort myself out…<em> Ah!</em>”</p><p>He almost bent in half, his insides splitting. Keening, gasping for breath, he registered Reed moving around him. “You’re in <em>pain</em>. I’m giving you morphine.”</p><p>“N-no,” he panted, “I need to feel -”</p><p>“You’ll be monitored, Daken.” Some rummaging around, and Daken thrashed about wildly, trying to stop the man. But then he felt it, the numbness. Taking over him, inexorable. Reed’s voice, coming from far away. “Please trust me.”</p><p>Daken floated, cocooned. Drugged out of his <em>mind</em>. He needed to feel, to feel everything; if he didn't, how could he tell when something was wrong? How could he -</p><p>He came to, surrounded by darkness. Night. There was a scent, someone with him, and it took him a beat too long to remember.</p><p>“Logan,” he whispered.</p><p>His father sat in the chair by the bed, his head hung, his arms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped as if in prayer. He raised his head.</p><p>“Alright, son?” he choked out. “How do you feel?”</p><p>Daken took stock. The numbness was receding, the constant ache returning. “Peachy.” He cleared his throat; his voice was hoarse. “Water?”</p><p>Logan held out a plastic bottle, angling the straw towards Daken’s mouth. Daken took a few sips and coughed.</p><p>“Easy.” Logan was talking like one would when confronting a startled horse. “Take it easy.”</p><p>“What day is it?” Daken croaked, looking around. He was surrounded by machines. Had he survived the first night?</p><p>“Still the same day.” Logan put the bottle on the nightstand. “Reed’s been proddin’ at me the whole day. He’s sure he’s almost there.”</p><p>There was something he wasn't saying; an hesitance in his voice.</p><p>“I’m dying, aren’t I?” Daken wished Reed hadn't drugged him. He didn’t need morphine; he’d needed to be able to feel everything.</p><p>“Not if we can help it.” Logan made an aborted motion towards Daken’s shoulder; stilled, likely recalling Daken’s reaction the last time he’d attempted something like that; and folded his hands in his lap.</p><p>“You’re a shit liar, Logan.”</p><p>“I’m not lyin’.” Logan shut his eyes and sighed. “Alright, Reed realized that studying <em>my</em> healing factor is useless because it’s constantly battling the adamantium. And you don’t <em>have</em> adamantium. The one with less strain on the healing factor, like you, is -”</p><p>“Your clone,” Daken breathed. “Laura.”</p><p>“Yeah. She’s down in the lab. Reed will come up with something real quick.”</p><p>“I doubt he’ll make it in time.” All right. He’d make his peace with this. That was why he’d died the other times too: because they hadn’t thought about that. Better luck next time. “I’m going to die tonight.”</p><p>“Don’t say that. It’s gonna be alright.”</p><p>Daken hummed. “Yes, it will be. I’ll make sure of it.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Logan sighed. “Son, I… heard about what you did to Storm. Saw him, actually. He looked -”</p><p>Daken looked away, chest aching. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>“I heard about what you told Reed,” Logan went on, relentless. “That you’re a mess and you need to push people away...”</p><p>“It’s what you’ve always known, no?” Daken stared at the ceiling. “That I’m fucked up. A disappointment.”</p><p>He could still hear the pain in Logan’s voice from a few loops ago, when Daken had let the bombs explode without warning anyone. His eyes as Daken constantly confirmed his worst fears.</p><p>“Son, I -”</p><p>“You were right,” Daken said. “I <em>am </em>a mess. So entangled with so much hurt. I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I don’t want to <em>be </em>like that anymore.”</p><p>“Is that why you turned to drugs?” Logan questioned softly, a sliver of pity that made Daken feel on edge.</p><p>“Don’t give me grief over my coping mechanisms, Logan, you don’t fare much better. You’re a drunkard.”</p><p>Logan only let out a laugh. It came out strangled. “Well, you’re right. And I don’t have all the answers. But I can tell you that you <em>don’t </em>have to push people away. If you grow, if you get better, if you’re really <em>set </em>on it -”</p><p>“It’s too late,” Daken interrupted him. “And you and I will never be anything either, Logan. There’s just too fucking much grief between us. I did terrible things to you. And you -” He shut his eyes. “You took my revenge from me.”</p><p>Logan remained silent, for a moment. Then: “Son,” he exhaled, “I did it to protect you -”</p><p>“I <em>know</em>.” Daken squeezed his eyes shut. Protect him from <em>himself</em>; from what he would become, drunk with power. <em>Quod sum eris. </em>A monster. “But I needed that, Logan. I needed to kill him. You can’t understand. It’s my fault that you can’t,” he preempted Logan’s protests. “I never told you anything.”</p><p>“I <em>understand </em>that he hurt you,” Logan said fiercely, his eyes flashing. “I understand wanting revenge. But I know how revenge fucks people <em>up</em>, son. I wanted to let you be able to build yourself up from something other than <em>hurt </em>-”</p><p>“But it wasn’t your decision to make!” Daken rounded on him, the motion too fast; he broke into a fit of painful coughs. Logan motioned for him and it all came back, all that rage, that blinding rage that had made Daken <em>hate </em>him with every fiber of his being, that had made him want to leave Logan with nothing. “Don’t touch me -”</p><p>Something ruptured in his chest. Alarms blared as he coughed up his lungs. Was he going? Was it time? God, he was <em>glad </em>that he was dying. This conversation was too much; he wasn’t ready for it. Perhaps he’d never be.</p><p>He registered, faintly, Reed coming unto the room, shouting at Logan to get out of the way. He felt his father’s gaze on him, piercing and hurt and terrified and so fucking determined. He didn’t want Logan to see him die but he didn’t have enough strength to push him away now. He shouldn’t have begun this conversation.</p><p>Then he couldn’t think anymore because his whole body <em>clenched</em>, as if he was being squeezed, and he vomited blood on the covers. A fountain of blood. It wasn't stopping.</p><p>“<em>Reed!” </em>Logan shouted. “Do <em>something!”</em></p><p>He shouldn't bother.</p><p>Logan kept shouting. Too late. Ah, too late. Better luck next time.</p><p>The last thing he saw was the door, filled with people coming in, and Johnny, Johnny -</p><p>He didn’t want Johnny to see him die…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I’m gonna make a brand new start of it, in old New York -</em>’</p><p><em>Yes I </em>will<em>, Frank</em>, Daken thought wildly. <em>I will. </em>The Wolverine doll weighed heavily in his hand. Logan had been terrified.</p><p>And Johnny -</p><p>“That’s Wolverine!” a childish voice beside him. “He’s one of the best good guys.”</p><p>Daken looked to the side. There stood a little kid, with a lisp and eager eyes and a baseball hat that… Hadn’t the hat been covered in <em>blood </em>one time? Hadn’t Daken <em>stabbed</em> the kid, once? And then he’d murdered everyone else in the store...</p><p>He took out his wallet and shoved money at the kid. “Buy yourself the whole set.”</p><p>“What? Really? Thank you, mister!”</p><p>Daken was out before anyone could notice that he’d also pocketed the Wolverine doll. He didn’t know why he’d taken it, he had no plans to make a hurtful memento of it, but it called to him.</p><p>He went around the city, to disarm the bombs. Such a ridiculous little plan. He’d felt trapped. Angry. Oh, so fucking angry. So damn hollow and bent on making such a fucking mess of things. It had seemed so crystal clear, at the time. The only possible outcome. The only way to go.</p><p>He didn't want to go. Not before he made it right.</p><p>God, please let him make it right.</p><p>By the time he got back to the Baxter Building, harrowing anticipation had coiled in his stomach. He knew what was coming. He had to get it over with. Just like last time. Better this way; the right thing to do.</p><p>If it was the right thing to do, why did it make his chest clench? Why did the memory of Johnny running into the room and seeing him die, the memory of his grief-stricken expression as Daken tore at him, as Daken <em>protected </em>him, make him want to curl up on the sidewalk? It <em>was </em>the right thing to do, wasn't it?</p><p>‘<em>You don’t have to push people away,’</em> Logan’s voice came unbidden to his mind. Reed had said it too. But they didn’t understand, did they? They had no idea. They weren’t rotten, dangerous, utterly damaged.</p><p>Johnny wasn't outside and Daken exhaled in relief. Perhaps Johnny had already gone out; Daken didn't remember at what time he’d arrived at the building last time. Perhaps he’d have a brief moment of respite, to get a hold of himself. His mind was swirling. He got inside and headed for Reed’s lab.</p><p>Before he could reach it, Johnny appeared, walking away from some room, walking towards him, and Daken crumbled into a thousand pieces. God, he was breath-taking. Still with that glimmer in his eyes, the one that Daken would cull with monstrous words. <em>Happy</em>. Glad to be alive. And so, so glad to see Daken again.</p><p>He grinned and lit up and opened his mouth to say, oh, that it was just so <em>great</em> to see Daken, even if Daken hadn't tried to reach out even once after Johnny had drawn that four of fire in the sky, even if he’d stared at the news of Johnny’s return with a lump in his throat.</p><p>Daken walked past him and Johnny frowned and it was happening in slow motion, it was a nightmare, it was unbearable. Daken thought ‘<em>Real people stay dead when they die’ </em>and ‘<em>You standing here is an insult’ </em>and ‘<em>I think you’d better have stayed dead’</em> and ‘<em>I keep hurting you, hurting you, hurting you’</em> and every time was like all the other times, every time hurt so damn fucking much. Every time he saw the light go out of Johnny’s eyes, as if he’d killed him, and he couldn't bear it anymore.</p><p>“Hey,” Johnny said, catching his arm, stopping his walk, two planets orbiting, colliding. His eyes were so big and blue and uncertain. “I thought you’d be pleased to… to see me.”</p><p>Daken had missed his cue.</p><p>He stared into those eyes, at that open face, so earnest and incapable of deception. He recalled how open he’d been one of the first times, that time that he’d taken the Heat and thought he was hallucinating that Johnny had come back to life. He thought about how so much simpler everything had been when he was having that stroke, so clear-cut, every part of him stripped and revealed. How he needed to have every layer bared in order to be able to even admit to himself the depth of what he was feeling, of what he felt here, now, Johnny's hand on his arm, waiting for an answer, incapable of understanding why would Daken ignore him, unaware of the danger, of what he <em>did </em>to Daken, unaware of the maelstrom he caused.</p><p>"Daken?" Johnny said, his features morphing with worry. "You alright?"</p><p><em>Yes</em>, Daken thought wildly, <em>Yes. You're here, and it's all right. No matter how many damn times this is going to happen again, if I can fix this, if I can -</em></p><p>“Daken?” Johnny reached up. Clasped his shoulder.</p><p>The dam broke loose.</p><p>“I <em>am</em>,” Daken choked out. “Glad to see you. I’m <em>glad </em>you’re alive, Johnny, I missed you so fucking much, I couldn't breathe. I c-c-couldn’t breathe when I heard -”</p><p>With a strangled sound, he cupped Johnny’s face. Oh, <em>oh. </em>It was all coming out at once, all he’d felt ever since laying eyes on him, that first time, so many loops ago. All his damn regret.</p><p>Johnny was staring at him, taken aback and yearning and soft, so soft. He squeezed Daken’s shoulder and spoke softly, so softly. “It’s alright, it’s over. I’m here.”</p><p>Daken found himself leaning forward, pressing his face to the crook of Johnny’s neck, inhaling his scent and his warmth and his realness, how solid and alive he was. No, it wasn't over. It wouldn't be over until Daken conquered this thing. But at least he hadn’t hurt Johnny this time. And he would never, never do it again. He couldn't bear to.</p><p>Gingerly, Johnny wrapped his arms around Daken. Daken, oh, clung to him like a lifeline. “It’s alright,” Johnny repeated.</p><p>Daken could die and come back again to this moment all over again for all he cared. Thousands of times. Never enough to repay all the damage he’d caused by pretending he didn’t care, by carving such odious words into Johnny’s flesh. Never enough, but -</p><p>“I <em>missed </em>you,” he choked out, his fingers spasming around the fabric of Johnny’s shirt. God, his place was in Johnny’s arms. Johnny held him tightly. “I… I dreamed of you, I…”</p><p>“Missed you too, Daken,” Johnny exhaled. “It’s been… really long.”</p><p>He smelled as if he wanted nothing more than for this moment to never end, too. He smelled of longing, so incredibly sharp and heady, intoxicating.</p><p>What was Daken <em>doing?</em></p><p>He shouldn't do this. He shouldn’t keep Johnny so close to him. He wouldn’t hurt him, no, he’d never do it again, but he needed to keep Johnny away. It was for his own good.</p><p>He managed to extricate himself from Johnny, but he couldn't avoid Johnny’s gaze, so earnest and warm. So much more intense, too, than what Daken remembered. Was it death that had marked him so?</p><p>“I need to see Reed.” Try as he might, he couldn’t inject aloofness or dismissal in his voice. It was too croaked for that.</p><p>“Right. You had an appointment.” Johnny squeezed his shoulder, nodding to himself. He moved as if to escort Daken down to the lab.</p><p>“I’ll see him alone,” Daken mustered. But what was the point? Johnny would know, sooner or later. Daken would have to stay here. This was Johnny’s home.</p><p>“Oh, okay.” Johnny let his hand fall, unsure again. Then he offered brightly: “We could catch up later?”</p><p>The right answer - the correct answer - was <em>no</em>. But any retort that would chase Johnny away would have to be cruel, or mocking, or both, especially after what had just transpired. Nostalgia for Johnny’s touch already dulled his senses. He’d do it right this time.</p><p>“Actually, you can come,” he said. “And then we need to talk. I need to tell you something.”</p><p>He’d do it <em>right</em>.</p><p>Reed was hard at work, obviously. When they came in, he raised his head from whatever he was doing and eyed them both, with his sharp assessing gaze. Could he sense the electricity between them?</p><p>“You’re late,” he muttered, returning his attention to his work. “What is it, then?”</p><p>Daken fished the Heat pills out of his pocket. Johnny started, staring down at them with wide eyes. Their nature was unmistakable. Daken took a breath.</p><p>“I need your help. These drugs have fried my healing factor,” he explained quietly. Reed looked up, brows furrowed; Johnny made a soft noise - inquiring, worried. “It’s attacking my healthy cells now.”</p><p>Reed was moving towards him, and Johnny looked between them: catching up fast, horror mounting on his face. Daken reached out and squeezed Johnny’s arm, a weak attempt at reassurance.</p><p>“My healing factor is killing me,” he soldiered on, ignoring Johnny’s cry, only focusing on Reed’s clinical gaze.</p><p>He gave away the pills for analysis. Then Reed would scan him, and concur, and plan, and they’d waste much less time if Daken disclosed everything, if he told him what he knew instead of making nebulous suggestions.</p><p>“I’m a bit on a clock, because green suns are coming out of the core,” he said as Reed examined the pills.</p><p>Reed looked up wildly. Two mysteries wrapped up in one, it ought to make him salivate. “Really? That’s -”</p><p>“Unrelated. It’s magical and there’s nothing you can do about it. But I’m able to tell you that I die of complications tonight, and that you shouldn’t study Logan’s healing factor, but his clone’s -”</p><p>“Of course, no adamantium!” Reed exclaimed, and then he was pulling Daken towards his instruments. “Anything else you can tell me?”</p><p>Daken followed him and explained and subjected himself to Reed’s prodding. Johnny hovered nearby, his features set, his presence comforting. When there was a lull in the barrage of questions, he spoke.</p><p>“That’s one of our code phrases, right?” he asked quietly. “The green suns -”</p><p>He trailed off.</p><p>Reed nodded from the screen he was bent on. “He’s in a time loop.”</p><p>“And you’re <em>dying?</em>” Johnny’s voice broke.</p><p>Daken cursed inwardly. He should have broken the news more gently - but then, how else? They were on a strict timetable. He wanted to say that it was alright, but he knew there was a distinct possibility that he’d die again.</p><p>“He’s not dying,” Reed declared with a firm voice. “I have more information than I had in the previous loops, surely?”</p><p>He eyed Daken, looking for confirmation. Daken nodded, never looking away from Johnny, trying to impart how <em>confident</em> he was that tonight would end differently.</p><p>He wasn't.</p><p>“See?” Reed said, motioning for Johnny to back up a little. “It’s going to be fine. Why don’t you contact Laura? Tell her to come here as soon as she can.”</p><p>Johnny jumped at the opportunity to do something. While he was busy calling Logan’s clone, Reed spoke in a murmur.</p><p>“Do you reset anyway?”</p><p>“I reset with my death,” Daken answered with an equally quiet tone. Johnny was out of hearing range, distracted. “And I always die tonight. I don’t want -” He trailed off. “Send him out of the room if I’m dying.”</p><p>“You’re not dying,” Reed declared again, perfectly arrogant in his reassuring confidence. Daken shot out his hand and grabbed the man’s arm, squeezing tight.</p><p>“Send him <em>out </em>if I’m dying,” he said through gritted teeth. Then he did something he’d never done in the building, at first fearing the presence of sensors, then because he simply <em>couldn’t</em>: he pushed pheromones at the scientist, to make him more compliant.</p><p>Some soft alarm chimed and Reed’s gaze went to a screen suddenly appearing beside Daken, his eyes narrowed, lips pursed in distaste. His scent spiked with distrust and annoyance; Daken had been right. But even if Reed knew what Daken had just done, it would show him how serious Daken was.</p><p>Reed looked down at him, sharp, his jaw clenched, and nodded. Daken let go of him, exhaling in relief, and waited as Reed kept scanning him.</p><p>Johnny reappeared, his features set. “She’s coming.”</p><p>“Excellent.” Reed stepped away from Daken, surrounded by multiple screens he was pulling down from the ceiling. “I have everything I need. You can get up, Daken. Let’s get you to the med bay -”</p><p>“I’ll do it,” Johnny said firmly. “You stay here and work on this thing.”</p><p>“Well -” Reed eyed his brother-in-law, and Daken thought he’d refuse.</p><p>“It’s not up for debate.” Johnny grabbed Daken’s arm. “You need to <em>crack </em>this. You aren't going to waste time by doing something someone else can do.”</p><p>“No, of course not,” Reed said softly. “Go on, Johnny.”</p><p>Daken let Johnny lead him away. He radiated a simmering intensity that was really quite entrancing. He was so worried; it made Daken’s chest ache. He kept throwing heated glances at Daken.</p><p>“Reed’s going to find a solution,” he was saying, so sure of himself, but to Daken the undercurrent of panic was plain. “He’s going to help, Daken.”</p><p>“I know,” Daken said. Johnny fell silent, and almost dragged him - but not forcefully, never that - for the last remaining distance to the med bay. There he led Daken to a bed -</p><p>Not the one Daken had died in. Daken couldn't help it and he stopped, staring at the other, the one he’d used before, all the other times. Johnny frowned.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Daken shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just that I’ve been using that one.”</p><p>If possible, Johnny’s gaze turned even more gutted and determined. “Then let’s beat this thing, yeah? Use <em>another </em>bed.”</p><p>Daken didn't think it worked that way. But if it eased Johnny’s worry, why not? He toed out of his shoes and slipped into the other bed.</p><p>“You need anything?” Johnny hovered nearby, solicitous. “Anything at all.”</p><p>It was time, wasn’t it? If there could possibly be a right moment, it was this one. Daken inhaled to speak.</p><p>“It’s alright,” came out of his mouth. “It’s going to be alright, Johnny.”</p><p>His voice was all wrong, unsure, laced with sharp edges he wasn’t accustomed to. An unused chord. He knew how to comfort to pursue a goal, but this… it was uncharted territory. It wasn’t even what he’d meant to say; he’d wanted to pave the way for his speech. Give Johnny the respect he deserved.</p><p>Johnny broke at that, and he grabbed the chair standing by the bed, yanking it closer. He fell upon it, his features twisting.</p><p>“That should be my line,” he choked out.</p><p>“Reed’s working on it,” Daken sat up, gazing upon him. God, he was hurting Johnny all over again, wasn't he? Worrying him and -</p><p>“How many times has Reed been <em>working on it?” </em>Johnny asked, anguished, wringing his hands in his lap.</p><p>“Not that many,” Daken reassured him. “And with each time he has new data, and he’s closer to find a solution -”</p><p>“But in the meantime, you die!” Johnny cried out. “It’s not right -” he broke off. “I… I’m <em>sorry</em>.” He slumped with a wince. “I shouldn’t be this negative. You’ve been through enough.”</p><p>“It’s all right,” Daken hastened to say. “It’s not that bad, really.”</p><p>Johnny looked at him with tears-filled eyes. Daken cursed inwardly.</p><p>“It’s <em>different</em>, when you have a healing factor,” he said. “I’m <em>used </em>to things that normally kill people. Dying isn’t… it’s not as traumatic as it is for others.”</p><p>‘<em>Real people stay dead when they die.’</em></p><p>Johnny nodded, but he was unconvinced, his eyes red. He was all frazzled because he <em>had </em>died and come back recently, the experience fresh in his mind. He thought he knew how Daken felt. And relating to Daken would only tie him closer.</p><p><em>Do it</em>, Daken thought. <em>Do it, dammit.</em></p><p>“That’s not what’s driving me insane,” he said. “The dying part, I don't care about that. It’s living this day over and over again, making the same mistakes.”</p><p>“Like?” Johnny asked softly. He dried his tears with the back of his hand.</p><p>Do it. Tell him -</p><p>“Like hurting you,” Daken said. Johnny frowned.</p><p>“<em>Hurting </em>me?”</p><p>“Telling you cruel things to push you away,” Daken said, feeling the need to hang his head. But he forced himself to meet Johnny’s confused gaze unflinchingly. “You don't deserve that. You deserve the truth.”</p><p>“Why would you push me away?” Johnny asked, still frowning. Still so trusting. He reached out, and the contact - his hand on Daken’s arm - oh, it was so warm and comforting.</p><p>“To protect you from me. To make you see -”</p><p>“I don’t need protection,” Johnny said, no-nonsense and <em>fast</em>, interrupting him. Almost frantic. “Is this about your past? Because Daken, I <em>know </em>you’re a villain. I care about you anyway. I know you’re trying to change -”</p><p>The lie Daken had fed him and the whole family. Yes, he was striving towards it now, but when he’d met them, he’d been playing them. Playing into their expectations, into Johnny’s.</p><p>“You <em>do </em>need protection. From me. Because I made you care about me, but it was all to get close to your family. To use you.” There, he’d said it. And he couldn't avoid hurting Johnny with his confession, but at least he hadn't been needlessly cruel about it. He’d been honest. He mourned when Johnny let him go, retreating his hand to his lap, hurt in his eyes, but at least he’d been <em>honest</em>. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You’re sorry,” Johnny choked out. He shut his eyes, for a moment, piercing Daken’s heart. When he opened them again, his gaze was searing and so incredibly intense, so unlike him. But Daken didn’t know him anymore, did he? “Do you think you’re the <em>first</em> who got that idea?”</p><p>Daken started. Johnny went on, blazing.</p><p>“Do you think you’re the first that thought me so stupid and young, so gullible, that I could be used to get in?” He leaned towards Daken, eyes shining. Daken couldn't discern if it was fury or tears that made them look like that. “With what we <em>knew</em> of you. You think we didn't know that you were playing an angle?”</p><p>Daken had never seen him like that. So sure of himself, so martial.</p><p>“You were trying to outmaneuver Osborn,” Johnny said. “Of <em>course </em>you wanted allies. Of <em>course </em>you manipulated us into helping you. We <em>knew </em>that.”</p><p>Yes, it had been a fine game that Daken had played, to get their trust, to get them in his debt. They were so on edge, so distrusting because of what Logan had told them, that Daken had to set up an intricate show for them. And they’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.</p><p>Or so he’d thought. Now Johnny was telling him… what, that they’d known? Thad they’d let Daken believe he was playing them, only to be played in return? Daken stared, uncomprehending. Had Johnny played <em>him</em>, only pretending to care? <em>No one cares</em>. Hadn't Daken <em>learned</em> that? Had Daken lied to himself, as always, as he’d recently done with Donna?</p><p>Had Romulus been right -?</p><p>No, Johnny <em>did</em> care. He cared terribly. If there was one certainty in Daken’s life, at least one, was that Johnny <em>cared</em>. He’d just… he’d thought he was careful, that he wouldn't be played, and then he’d fallen for Daken’s tricks anyway. Believing that lie about Daken wanting to change, oh, believing it with all his heart. And he was upset about that, now, confronted with the truth: that Daken <em>had </em>played them all. That Daken had played <em>him</em>.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Daken repeated. His tongue was made of lead.</p><p>Johnny grabbed his arm again. “And you say you’re <em>sorry</em>. You say you’re <em>sorry</em>, but you’re trying to make me believe that you never cared, that you’re <em>dangerous</em>? That’s a contradiction. You wouldn't be sorry, you wouldn’t be trying to push me <em>away</em>, if you didn’t care. You damn <em>idiot</em>,” he choked out.</p><p>He shook Daken, but not hard - gently. Daken was reeling. “I <em>am </em>dangerous. I’ve been using -”</p><p>“Will you <em>stop </em>with that! I <em>know </em>that!” Johnny cried out. “You pretended you were dead and you <em>stole </em>from Reed! We knew as soon as you <em>left </em>that you’d taken his things! But <em>I </em>knew… I knew you wanted to change, to be <em>better </em>-”</p><p>He hung his head.</p><p>“Johnny…” Daken sat up fully. He wanted to reach out, cradle Johnny’s head. Card his fingers through his hair and beg his forgiveness. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Johnny like this, to upset him so. He’d thought it would help. The cold harsh truth, but not told in a mocking tone.</p><p>“You’re <em>hiding</em>,” Johnny said, looking up, eyes blazing, “because you’re scared. Because you’re d-dying and you think this will make it better, it will make me hate you.”</p><p>And God, when had Johnny become so insightful? When had he learnt to read Daken so easily?</p><p>“I only want to free you,” he whispered. “You don’t deserve this. You never deserved it. It was despicable, what I did to you.”</p><p>“You <em>kissed </em>me,” Johnny said fiercely, his fingers tight around Daken’s arm, but not enough to hurt. He exhaled a wet laugh. “You know, I’d never been kissed like that.”</p><p>It had been painfully obvious. His surprised little moans; the way he’d clung to Daken, shivering. The faint press of his fingers against Daken’s skin. His shaking thighs as Daken held him upright.</p><p>That kiss had seared Daken.</p><p>Daken had never kissed anyone like that, either. He’d never lost himself like that, focused on the feeling of Johnny’s body against him, around him, on keeping <em>himself </em>upright. He’d been taken, overwhelmed; he’d lost himself in Johnny.</p><p>Daken swallowed, a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No.” Johnny shook his head. “Don’t you dare. Were you <em>lying </em>when you saw me earlier? When you said -”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>” God, no. Never. He couldn’t let Johnny think that. That Daken was anything but so fucking <em>relieved </em>that he was alive. “I’m <em>glad</em>,” he said urgently. “I’m glad you’re back.”</p><p>“Then don’t lie and say it was all a lie,” Johnny choked out. “Don’t do that. You don’t need to do that. I can’t let you do that, Daken, I can’t let you say it’s never been real. Don’t say that kiss was just a game, that you were playing me, because I <em>felt </em>it. I felt that it was <em>real</em>.”</p><p>He reached out and clasped Daken’s hand, filling Daken with yearning.</p><p>It <em>had </em>been a game. A terrible, terrible game. As soon as his lips had touched Johnny’s, as soon as he’d held Johnny, as soon as Johnny had wrapped his arms around him, it had changed. He’d been doomed.</p><p>He’d doomed them both.</p><p>The right thing - the just thing - was to retreat. Say that of <em>course </em>it had been a game, of <em>course </em>he’d set out to play Johnny, of <em>course </em>he had kissed him just to bind Johnny to him.</p><p>But he couldn’t.</p><p>God, he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie. Not anymore.</p><p>Not to Johnny, and not to himself.</p><p>Johnny exhaled a tremulous breath and seemed to come to himself. “God, I’m sorry. You’re <em>dying </em>and I attack you like that…”</p><p>“I don’t care about that,” Daken said, squeezing Johnny’s hand. “I don’t care that I’m dying. I care that it will restart again, and again, and I’ll go through this again. To make up for all I’ve done to you. For as long as necessary.”</p><p>Johnny shook his head. “You don't have to.”</p><p>“I <em>want </em>to. It’s only right. I… It <em>was</em> real, Johnny,” he exhaled.</p><p>Oh, his chest was so tight. His heart was thumping in his ears, and the constant pain growing inside him was utterly dulled, unimportant, forgotten. Johnny held his breath, so hopeful.</p><p>“But it doesn’t negate the things I did to you before,” Daken continued. It didn't work like that. “It doesn't negate what I did <em>after</em>, and all the things I <em>told</em> you, all the damage I’ve brought to your family and your home.”</p><p>“You didn't do anything -”</p><p>“Before the time loop began, I put bombs all over New York,” he confessed. “One was in this very building. People got hurt. So many times. One time I killed an entire store. I drugged Reed too.”</p><p>Johnny stilled. He didn't pull away, but he was gazing at Daken with that martial pose again, like a hardened commander.</p><p>“Are there bombs now?” he asked eventually, voice firm.</p><p>Daken shook his head. “Of course not. I mean, they’re still there, but I disarmed them.”</p><p>“So people <em>aren’t </em>going to get hurt. And you didn't drug Reed. Or do you plan on doing it?” Johnny continued, relentless.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Johnny cocked his head, as if making a point. “These things didn't happen.”</p><p>“They <em>did</em>. I remember them. If you could, too, you’d know -”</p><p>“But you fixed it.” Johnny squeezed his hand. “You were given another chance, and you fixed it -”</p><p>“More like a hundred chances -”</p><p>“You <em>fixed </em>it,” Johnny said fiercely. “Shouldn't I put that into consideration? You’re <em>dying</em>,” he choked out. “You’re on a <em>clock</em>, but you take the time to disarm the bombs before coming here and asking for help?”</p><p>Daken stared at Johnny’s earnest face.</p><p>He was <em>right</em>. Daken could have just approached Reed with his tale; with his intel, other heroes would have taken care of the bombs, while Reed focused on him from earlier on, more hours of work meaning more chances to succeed. It would have been far more logical.</p><p>But Daken had moved on autopilot, because… why? Why hadn’t he stopped for a moment and contemplated the solution that benefited him more?</p><p>He could tell what Johnny believed. He believed that Daken had thought of strangers’ safety first, uncaring of himself.</p><p>But that couldn't possibly be the truth. He’d just been caught in the moment, used to the routine he’d established the past few times… Hadn't he?</p><p>Johnny squeezed his hand, a warm expression on his face. “You see it, don’t you?” he said, voice soft.</p><p>He didn't look hopeful anymore. He looked utterly certain.</p><p>“What?” Daken croaked. “That I’m changed? That I’m <em>better?</em> Just like that?” It didn't <em>work</em> like that. He’d spilled too much blood for it to work like that. “If you knew me, if you knew the things I’ve <em>done</em> -”</p><p>“I know you’re trying,” Johnny murmured, his hand so warm around Daken's. “That matters. That’s important.”</p><p>“Intent certainly matters.”</p><p>They both jumped at the new voice; they’d been so focused on each other, that neither of them had noticed the man standing in the doorway.</p><p>Doctor Strange was eyeing Daken sharply. Johnny rose to his feet to greet him, squeezing Daken’s hand one last time before letting go.</p><p>“Hi! What are… Oh!” Johnny’s eyes lit up and he grinned, awash with stark relief. “Are you here to help?”</p><p>“Indeed, I was called upon to help,” Strange drawled. “Reed told me that your guest was trapped in a magical timeloop.”</p><p>His eyes never left Daken’s. Daken wondered how the man was going to be; unhelpful and furious, like the first time, or sympathetic as the last one?</p><p>“I <em>told</em> him there was nothing he could do,” Daken pointed out. Strange’s eyebrows rose.</p><p>“So you did.”</p><p>Johnny looked between them, lost; but he could obviously see how piercing Strange’s gaze was.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked urgently. “What do you see?”</p><p>“He sees his magical signature,” Daken said. Strange hummed and took a step towards them. Johnny frowned.</p><p>“So he’s the one who <em>did </em>this to you?” He looked at Strange again, and stood taller, an arm spread in front of Daken, almost as if he wanted to protect Daken from the sorcerer. Daken felt a lump in his throat.</p><p>He reached out, laying a hand on Johnny’s arm. “Those bombs I told you about. One blew up his outer walls. It triggered a…” He trailed off. “Well, he says it’s not a curse, but he hasn’t offered a different definition.”</p><p>Johnny's head snapped towards Strange again. The man stopped at the foot of bed, staring down at Daken with an assessing gaze.</p><p>“A geas,” he eventually said.</p><p>A <em>geas. </em>Straight out of Irish mythology. It was a sort of prohibition, was it not? Or a compulsion, depending on the story. Which of the two?</p><p>Daken doubted Strange would volunteer any other information. But he <em>was </em>being helpful, wasn’t he? ‘<em>Intent certainly matters</em>’, he’d said mere moments ago. The other time, he’d talked about intent too: he’d said that the curse, the <em>geas</em>, reacted to <em>real</em> intent.</p><p>“Can you <em>lift </em>it?” Johnny demanded in the silence that followed. “No one got hurt. He’s <em>sorry</em>.”</p><p>“I’m sure he is.” Strange briefly shut his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”</p><p>“Bull<em>shit</em>,” Johnny snarled, startling Daken with his fierce protectiveness. “You’re the Sorcerer Supreme, and <em>you </em>cast it.”</p><p>Strange sighed. “It’s a geas. It is, quite <em>literally</em>, out of my hands.”</p><p>“I have to make a journey,” Daken relayed. “That’s what you said.”</p><p>Strange nodded. “Don’t think of a <em>literal</em> journey. Not necessarily.”</p><p>Yes, Strange was being <em>very </em>helpful, all things considered. Why? Perhaps Daken could fish for more information…</p><p>As if reading his mind, Strange shook his head. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I <em>am</em> a Doctor of medicine, and I’ll help Reed with your other predicament.”</p><p>Daken felt almost out of breath at the proclamation. He blinked blearily up at the sorcerer, uncomprehending.</p><p>Strange grimaced. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he explained. “It’s not right.”</p><p>At a <em>disadvantage</em>. What a polite way to put it. “You mean that I can’t make my <em>journey </em>if I keep dying.”</p><p>Johnny made a pained sound and Daken cursed himself and squeezed Johnny’s arm, gently. Johnny took a breath.</p><p>“What kind of journey?” he asked. “If you’re sorry that he’s stuck because of your cruel defense systems, you should be <em>clearer</em>.”</p><p>Strange didn’t deny nor confirm Johnny’s assessment, shaking his head as he moved back. “Even if I had an idea, if I <em>told </em>him, he’d reset again with no recollection of what I said. If <em>anyone </em>told him, really...”</p><p>“That’s a load of -”</p><p>“That makes sense.” Daken sat up, eyeing the sorcerer. He knew that the man wasn’t keeping information just for the kick of it; he smelt contrite enough. Daken had to make this journey on his own, and he’d made his peace with <em>that </em>information already. “Thank you, Doctor Strange.”</p><p>With a sharp nod, the man took his leave. Johnny sat again, features contorted in worry. “Let’s brainstorm,” he whispered urgently. “It could be like… like ‘<em>Groundhog Day</em>’. Do you know the movie?”</p><p>Daken recalled another time Johnny had made that reference; his chest clenched at the memory of what he’d said then. “I know of it.”</p><p>“Oh, okay.” Johnny snapped his fingers and dragged the chair closer, catching Daken’s hand. It was comforting. He was so comforting and driven, so hell-bent on helping. “So like, the protagonist starts out -”</p><p>“Johnny.” Daken held up his free hand. “You heard him. I need to do it alone.”</p><p>Johnny grimaced. “But I want to help you. You don’t have to be alone -”</p><p>“I’m not alone.” He wasn’t. Johnny was there with him, and they’d talked, and he was still reeling from their conversation. He’d gladly do this a thousand times over, if only to make amends for his horrid behavior. To see Johnny’s eyes sparkle like before. “One thing at a time, okay? First I’ll heal, and then I’ll tackle this geas, but I have to do it on my own.”</p><p>And then get help and be <em>better</em>, a better version of himself, and then maybe, just maybe, come back here and -</p><p>“Thank you, Johnny.” He squeezed the man’s hand. “For offering. It means a lot to me.</p><p>“Of <em>course</em>,” Johnny said vehemently, his gaze so fierce. It made Daken breathe easy.</p><p><em>Johnny </em>made him breathe easy, against his healing factor eating at him. Gnawing him steadily, faster and faster. His flesh, self-destructing. There was a metaphor there.</p><p>He didn’t want to think about the stupid geas anymore, about his oncoming death. He only wanted to keep talking to Johnny, to breathe. To keep him close. Oh, he -</p><p>“Let’s talk about something else,” he offered. “Unless you have other things to do.”</p><p>He didn't want Johnny to leave.</p><p><em>Stay. </em>Oh, he couldn't say it. <em>Stay with me.</em></p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Johnny exclaimed with fierce vehemence. He gently squeezed Daken’s hand. “Of course I don’t have other things to do.”</p><p>He stayed. He spoke hesitantly at first, his thoughts obviously turned to the situation, but then Daken managed a remark, like the ones he used to make, when they used to talk on the phone, endlessly bantering, so easy and effortless, so welcome. Johnny beamed and they were back to those times, those times where Daken toed the line, already feeling himself slipping because it was just so <em>easy </em>to talk with Johnny, to just talk and talk about nothing really, up to a point when he just craved to hear Johnny’s voice.</p><p>He’d fallen far before that talk on the rooftop.</p><p>He’d -</p><p><em>Oh</em>, he thought helplessly, gazing upon Johnny’s animated features - his lovely, lovely features. <em>Oh.</em></p><p>“All right?” Johnny frowned. “Are you in pain?”</p><p>“What?” Daken said weakly. Pain? Who cared about pain? Pain was nothing. <em>Nothing</em>, compared to the maelstrom in his chest.</p><p>“You got so quiet.” Johnny stood, and reached out, a hand on Daken’s forehead. His touch was warm and soft and so <em>welcome </em>and Daken made a sound, a sort of soft noise. Johnny tensed, eyes jumping all over Daken’s body as if he could divine the damage. “Should I call Reed?”</p><p>Daken couldn’t answer. He felt utterly out of his depth. He stared as Johnny turned to a screen and slammed his hand on something, possibly an alarm.</p><p>Then he turned again and grabbed Daken’s hand and whispered urgently: “It’s going to be all right.”</p><p><em>Yes</em>, Daken thought wildly. Oh, he felt feverish. It couldn't be. He <em>cared </em>about Johnny, yes, they’d established that. God, he’d missed him. He didn't want to hurt him ever again. Johnny was precious. So precious.</p><p>Daken wasn’t capable of love; he’d never been. <em>Proper </em>love. No, not with the life he’d led. He was damaged. His affections turned to ash. He only hurt, or got hurt in return. The shadows looming. Romulus had seen to that -</p><p>No, don’t think about Romulus now.</p><p><em>Love? </em>Something, panicked, flitted against his chest. He couldn't think that word. He had no right to it. Hadn’t he hurt Johnny, again and again? He was fixing it, he was fixing himself, but he had no right, no right at all to Johnny’s love. Oh, Johnny cared, he cared so much, but he couldn’t - they couldn’t - Daken <em>couldn’t </em>drag him into his mess...</p><p>“What is it?” Reed’s voice startled him out of his spiralling thoughts. “What’s happening?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Johnny exclaimed, panicked. “We were talking and he just went so pale and still and <em>he’s not talking </em>-”</p><p>There were unshed tears in his voice, trembling with worry. Daken ached. Oh, no, he couldn’t hurt Johnny like this.</p><p>“I’m okay,” he managed to say. “It’s okay, Johnny.”</p><p>Johnny made a startled, relieved sound and he was at Daken’s side again, something urgent and so terribly intense in his eyes.</p><p>Daken <em>loved </em>him.</p><p>Oh, oh, Daken was such a damn fool. Johnny exclaimed in dismay and reached out, his fingers mere inches from Daken’s face.</p><p>“You’re crying,” he whispered. “Daken, <em>really</em>, are you all right?”</p><p>Was he? Daken touched his face, his fingers almost brushing against Johnny’s, and retreated his hand, staring at his wet fingertips. Words wouldn’t come.</p><p>He loved Johnny. He <em>loved </em>him. He was in <em>love </em>with the man in front of him, so solicitous, so certain of Daken’s inner goodness. This man who cared so much. This man whom Daken had deceived, and hurt, a hole gaping wider in his chest at the thought. This man who just <em>forgave </em>him because he was <em>trying </em>and wasn't that enough?</p><p>Was it? Was it, really?</p><p>It pulsed in his throat, this aching truth begging to be let out. He felt a weight, an impossibly hot weight on his chest. Daken clenched his jaw, afraid that if he parted his lips, words would tumble out, impossible words.</p><p>He needed to get <em>better</em>, first.</p><p>A hand on his shoulder, opposite from Johnny. A gentle, hesitant squeeze. “Daken,” Reed said, “if you’re in pain, I can -”</p><p>“Morphine,” Daken choked out. He tore his gaze from Johnny, from the crease in Johnny’s forehead, from his worried bright eyes. “Please. Sedate me.”</p><p>Let him flee into nothingness.</p><p>Reed nodded, and moved around, and returned with a syringe. Daken watched him administer the drug, praying it would take effect soon.</p><p>A hand brushed his hair. Daken’s head turned, slowly, like a sunflower, Johnny’s face crowned by a haze. He blinked, aching, yearning. It took everything in him not to lean into the touch, everything else lethargic, unresponsive.</p><p>“I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?” Johnny murmured, a tremulous smile on his lips. Valiantly reassuring.</p><p><em>God, don’t say things like that.</em> Daken blinked, once, twice, his eyelids drooping, numbness and peace filling his limbs. <em>I’ll believe you. I… </em></p><p>He closed his eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I miscalculated a bit with the outline! The story is now going to have <i><b>seven</b></i> chapters, not six ^-^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. VI.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VI.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daken came to in the darkness.</p>
<p>He kept his eyes closed, taking in his surroundings. He could sense the scents and sounds of the Fantastic Four’s med bay - he was still there, he lay on the same mattress he’d had his stunned epiphany in. It was night.</p>
<p>He wasn’t alone.</p>
<p>Johnny was there. He'd promised, and he was there. His scent filled Daken’s nostrils, it filled him with aching longing. Daken breathed deep and even, attempting to feign sleep.</p>
<p>Johnny’s wasn’t the only scent he smelled.</p>
<p>“I know yer awake, son.”</p>
<p>Logan’s voice was pitched to a hush that nonetheless rang clear to the likes of them. He was trying to keep quiet - Johnny’s breathing, coming from a few feet away, indicated that he was sleeping.</p>
<p>That suited Daken well.</p>
<p>He took stock. He felt… good, no dull pain inside him. He was in perfect physical form, completely healed. His healing factor had come back in full force, as if it had never been damaged, as if Daken had never stupidly destroyed it. Reed had <em>delivered</em>. Daken hadn’t physically felt this good in so, <em>so</em> long.</p>
<p>He was free…</p>
<p>… from the disease. He wasn't free from the truths he’d reached, and he certainly wasn’t free from the geas.</p>
<p>Time to get to work, then. Time to tackle it, and himself.</p>
<p>Time to flee before Johnny woke up.</p>
<p>Daken sat up, no aching pain in his joints, reveling in his health. Almost on its own accord, his gaze zeroed in on the bed opposite his own, an exhausted lump sleeping there. What he could make of Johnny’s features, of the tired lines on his face, made Daken’s chest clench. He looked as if he hadn't been sleeping well for far too long.</p>
<p>How long had Daken been unconscious?</p>
<p>“Kid couldn't stand upright,” Logan said, sensing something of Daken’s turmoil, “but we couldn't get him to sleep until I swore I’d wake him up as soon as you did.”</p>
<p>‘<em>I’ll be here when you wake up,</em>’ Johnny had promised. Daken had believed him.</p>
<p>God, he had believed him.</p>
<p>He turned to watch Logan: his father sat on a chair by the bed, holding himself somewhat rigidly. He was eyeing Daken with a kind of wariness. Of course, Daken was fully healed now. He wasn't a frail child anymore, helpless, on the brink of death. At least Logan hadn't lost sight of that fact.</p>
<p>“And you haven’t kept your promise because you want to interrogate me?” Daken suggested idly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, still marvelling at the absence of pain.</p>
<p>If it hadn't suited him so well, Logan’s duplicitousness would have enraged him. He ached to see Johnny’s comforting gaze, to comfort Johnny with the sight of his good health, but this was for the best.</p>
<p>Logan shook his head. “Do you want me to wake him up?” he said, slowly, considering. He was looking between Daken and Johnny as if he’d got everything figured out, as Reed had the day before - had it been only a day? Doubtful.</p>
<p>Logan was looking between them exactly as he had looked at Daken that time when he’d confronted him, when he’d tricked him and taken Romulus, when he’d said that Daken loved Romulus.</p>
<p>Logan wasn't an idiot. He <em>could </em>be insightful, if he wanted.</p>
<p>“Don’t,” Daken said, giving everything away. “I need to leave.”</p>
<p>“No thanks for Reed? He worked day and night, you know.” Logan watched him look for his clothes in the locker by the bed. At some point, while he was unconscious, he’d been put in hospital clothes. “Doctor Strange, too, but he left. He said you can come by if you need. He can’t help, but he’ll… ah… he said he could <em>check </em>if you’re still cursed.”</p>
<p>“It’s a geas,” Daken corrected him. One tied to his <em>intentions</em>.</p>
<p>Strange’s help could come in handy. God only knew what he’d need to do, to get rid of the geas. His not-necessarily-literal <em>journey. </em>He would vanquish this. He had a <em>goal </em>now. He could change. He knew he could.</p>
<p>It would be good to have Strange monitor the situation.</p>
<p>As for Reed… Daken weighed the clothes in his hand. He’d have liked to shrug everything off, but sometime during this nightmare of a situation he’d begun leaning against the scientist. And yes, it was because he was the only one who could help, but he’d also been a constant. He’d saved Daken. The idea of leaving without thanking him left a bad taste in Daken’s mouth. Perhaps he deserved more than his patient vanishing like a thief in the night.</p>
<p>But he needed to leave. He couldn't face Johnny, not now. Johnny didn't deserve Daken vanishing either, not after what had happened, what they’d said, but exactly because of that, because of what they’d <em>said</em>, of what now thrummed in Daken’s bones, he needed to leave.</p>
<p>“I’ll give him a call,” he shrugged, and put on his trousers. He hung the hospital gown in the locker, wore his blazer, and caught his jacket from the dress hanger, noticing it was lighter than before. Frowning, he shrugged it on, surrespituously patting it down.</p>
<p>The Wolverine doll was gone.</p>
<p>He’d put it in the inner breast pocket, but now it wasn't there anymore. For a wild moment, he thought that this was <em>it</em>. He had, somehow, already bested the geas. Perhaps he had only needed to… to admit his feelings for Johnny to himself? That had certainly been a <em>journey</em>. And the doll was the first thing he touched every time the circle began anew…</p>
<p>Then he caught sight of Logan from this angle, and felt incredibly foolish.</p>
<p>The doll rested by Logan’s hip, trapped between him and the plastic chair. Daken stood there, stunned. Of course it couldn’t be that simple; how foolish of him. And such wishful thinking, really; he ought to make a <em>journey</em>, not get a grip of his emotions. A <em>true</em> journey.</p>
<p>Logan followed his gaze, and hastened to proffer the doll to him. Daken ignored him.</p>
<p>“Have you been going through my things?” he sneered. Oh, of course he had. This Logan only saw a threat now that Daken was cured… not that he had any reason not to. Daken hadn’t given him any, had he?</p>
<p>Logan shook his head. “It fell when Storm took your jacket off,” he said slowly, tone suspicious but also laced with wonder.</p>
<p>Never in a million years could he suspect its intended purpose, but it was strange and out of character that Daken would just keep something like it. Of course he’d been curious; who wouldn’t?</p>
<p>Logan was still offering it back to him, but Daken made for the door.</p>
<p>“Keep it. It was for you anyway.”</p>
<p>In the doorway, he gave himself a moment to study Johnny again, to commit his features to memory. It was better this way, better to leave.</p>
<p>Heart thumping in his chest, he left the room.</p>
<p>Obviously, Logan followed suit, tailing him closely as Daken navigated the dark corridors from memory. No alarm sounded, and there was no one patrolling. The Fantastic Four had just trusted him like that. It made his chest ache. And Logan -</p>
<p>“I’m not going to attack them while they sleep, you know,” he told his father as they neared the exit.</p>
<p>“I know,” came the reply from behind.</p>
<p>Daken turned. He and Logan stood there, stock still, staring at each other.</p>
<p>“<em>Do</em> you?”</p>
<p>“They just saved you.” Logan tilted his head, self-explanatory.</p>
<p>Yes, they had. And Daken had no intention to harm them. But Logan, Logan who’d witnessed the worst from him, who’d fallen prey to Daken’s tricks and finally learnt to be wary of him, shouldn’t write it off <em>just like that</em>.</p>
<p>But he looked at Daken as if he had something figured out, and that rattled Daken.</p>
<p>“Don’t presume you know me just because of that doll,” he spat. “It’s not what you think it is.”</p>
<p>But wasn't it? Even when it had only been a painful memento designed to wreck Logan with doubt, wasn't it also a symbol of their relationship? Daken could have chosen anything else. But a <em>doll? </em>A children’s toy?</p>
<p>Logan was still holding it, and he raised his hand to motion with it.</p>
<p>“It seems pretty straightforward,” he said calmly. “It smells of C4.”</p>
<p>Since Daken had kept in his jacket part of the bomb he’d initially planned to plant in the building, that was a given.</p>
<p>“And I suppose you alerted them to that fact?”</p>
<p>“Of course I did.” Logan lowered his hand, his eyes never leaving Daken. “And Storm said you’d already spilled the beans. You mentioned bombs in front of Strange too.”</p>
<p>“I did.” Daken eyed his father, wondering what was to come of this standstill. “Do you want to know about them? Is that why you’re following me?”</p>
<p>“You told Storm you’d already disarmed them.” Logan’s lips turned into a thin line. “Still, the Avengers checked if you were telling the truth. Kid said he believed you, but -”</p>
<p>He trailed off with a wince.</p>
<p>But <em>he </em>hadn’t believed it. And it was just as well, really, more in line with their old interactions.</p>
<p>Before the loops, Daken would have raged at this lack of trust, while being gleeful that he’d finally managed to get it through Logan’s skull that he was irredeemable, in no need of salvation.</p>
<p>Now he knew the truth. He did need help, and he’d <em>caused </em>the lack of trust.</p>
<p>“They did go off,” Daken confessed. Logan didn’t look surprised, either; Johnny must have said. “More than once.”</p>
<p>Logan stared at him, not just assessing. There was a fervent gleam in his eyes. “Ye fixed it, didn’t ye?”</p>
<p>Daken grimaced. “After a fashion.”</p>
<p>Silence fell, heavy.</p>
<p>He and Logan had been pitted against each other from the start. They could never be what Logan still obviously ached for them to be. There had been so much backstabbing. Logan had taken Romulus, had taken <em>revenge </em>out of Daken’s hands. Daken had retaliated by hitting Logan where it hurt. He’d hurt his own family to get back at Logan, his own <em>blood</em>.</p>
<p>And he stood here, now, and he felt as he’d felt so terribly strongly just before he died the first time. Just as he’d felt every time he’d seen Logan in each loop. Stark and impossibly cutting and so clear: regret.</p>
<p>And Logan kept looking at him with those searching eyes, and Daken could see in them a sort of wondering, tense hope.</p>
<p>He turned, unable to sustain Logan’s gaze, but couldn’t move away. He felt on the verge of something monumental, which was ridiculous… he was standing in a corridor of the Baxter Building, fleeing from Johnny. Running, towards… towards an embetterment of himself. But here, now, nothing was happening. He was just...</p>
<p>He was just confronting his father.</p>
<p>Not for the first time, either. This wasn’t the first time, during the loops, that they skirted around each other. It had been so much simpler, at first. When he still thought he was hallucinating, that it was a construct, that the Logan he was talking to wasn’t <em>real. </em>He looked back on those moments with longing. On the things that had been said, that Logan couldn’t remember.</p>
<p>“Itsu,” he recalled, his heart aching.</p>
<p>Behind him, Logan stiffened.</p>
<p>“What?” His voice cracked at the mere mention of Daken’s mother. It had often done that, when he’d talked about her during a loop.</p>
<p>That was one topic that didn’t leave Daken with the need to strangle Logan. They’d both faced that loss. She’d been the compass guiding Daken’s rage from the moment he’d been told that Logan had killed her. When that lie had been exposed, he’d buried her deep, too hurt by the betrayal. He’d let fury consume him.</p>
<p>“That’s what she was called, right? I know that now. You told me.” He shut his eyes. “She wouldn’t have wanted us to fight.”</p>
<p>It felt like a fundamental truth, unfurling itself as he spoke. He’d always known, deep inside, that she wouldn’t have liked what he'd become. He’d always known that, had she been alive to see them, she’d have suffered.</p>
<p>Logan shifted his weight, probably stunned speechless. He always talked so <em>much</em>, appealing to Daken’s inner goodness - hoping to find it. When the truth was that there was none to find. But now, but now…</p>
<p>There was another way. He’d never be the man Logan wanted him to be. He didn't <em>want </em>to. But he didn't want to be the man Romulus had made anymore.</p>
<p>He wanted to be himself.</p>
<p>A new man.</p>
<p>And if that meant bury the hatchet…</p>
<p>“She’d have smacked us both upside the head,” Logan croaked, both fond and yearning with ancient pain.</p>
<p>Daken snorted despite himself, an inelegant sound. There was a lump in his throat.</p>
<p>“You got experience with that?”</p>
<p>“Once or twice,” Logan choked out. “Sure. Your momma tolerated no nonsense.”</p>
<p>“More than once or twice, then,” he croaked. Logan exhaled a wet laugh. Daken took a breath. “Logan -”</p>
<p>What? ‘<em>This shit has gone on for long enough</em>’? ‘<em>I’m tired</em>’? ‘<em>I want to change</em>’? ‘<em>I’ll do better, I know I can</em>’? ‘<em>We’ve been hurting each other for too long</em>?’ ‘<em>I don’t know if I can forgive you, but I want to put this behind us</em>?’ ‘<em>Can you forgive me?</em>’</p>
<p>Were there even words to express what he felt?</p>
<p>His throat pulsed. He wanted to run so badly. He had things to do. A geas to best. A new man to come into. This could wait.</p>
<p>Excuses, excuses. There was no time like the present. Stalling was pointless. He was stalling. Because if he said it, if Logan heard it and believed him… what would happen? Would he turn on his heels and leave? Would he cross that insurmountable space between them? Would they reach what, an understanding? And then what, start anew? Could they? <em>Should </em>they? After everything that had happened between them?</p>
<p>Just like that?</p>
<p>But maybe it didn’t matter what Logan did, what came after it. It only mattered that Daken said it. For his own peace of mind. What came next… it was a matter of what he made of himself. It was a matter of following through. And by God, he would.</p>
<p>Daken turned. Logan was still there, in that same position, features crumbled. It reminded Daken of the day he’d revealed himself, when he’d freed Logan from SHIELD. Logan had been overwhelmed at the sight, tears trailing down his cheeks.</p>
<p>Daken had gutted him.</p>
<p>If had felt like an appropriate punishment. Karma. He’d been laboring under the idea that Logan had gutted his mother to prevent his birth. A horrific tale, sprung by Romulus.</p>
<p>A lie.</p>
<p>He’d been pitted against Logan since the beginning.</p>
<p>Logan cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“The reason I’m following you…” he trailed off.</p>
<p>Daken was grateful for the respite, grateful that the ball wasn’t in his court now.</p>
<p>“When I heard what was happening,” Logan began again, grimacing. “When I heard that you were <em>dying</em>, I had to be here. You’ve made your feelings for me clear and I tried to respect them, but I’m your father. I <em>had</em> to come. I had to be <em>there</em> for you.”</p>
<p>He smelled so utterly truthful, and upset. Had Daken been living this for the first time, he’d have talked himself out of what his very senses told him, bent on misconstructing anything Logan said. But he’d been through this day so many times. Logan had sat at his deathbed, sometimes had even cradled him in his arms as he died. He’d cried and screamed and begged for help. And sometimes, it had even brought Daken comfort in that madness.</p>
<p>“You have been,” he offered Logan, feeling a lump in his throat. “Many times.”</p>
<p>Logan looked surprised that Daken had even deigned to acknowledge his father’s confession, after all the times he’d reacted with violence to his father’s attempts. Logan had always been drowning in guilt over Daken’s fate, trying to make up for it. An attitude that Daken had despised, that made him feel on edge. Because ultimately, the picture that Logan had of him was fundamentally flawed. Except that it wasn't just due to Logan’s inability to see past his preconceptions, but also to Daken’s decision to never trust his father. He hadn't <em>wanted </em>to be seen, not by someone who so obviously wanted to fix him. Not by someone who’d had him <em>shot down </em>in order to whisk him away to try and fix him. But what else could Logan have done, when all he’d seen by then was a man set on revenge for something Logan hadn’t even done?</p>
<p>Logan wasn't lying either, about respecting his feelings on the matter. Lately, he’d kept his distance. Daken had told him he wanted to live out of his shadow and Logan had stayed put. When news of the L.A. killings had come out, when Daken had been framed, Logan could have come running to discipline his murderous son.</p>
<p>But he'd stayed put. It had probably been him to dispatch Moon Knight to investigate, but he hadn't set <em>foot</em> in L.A.</p>
<p>And then his son was dying, and he'd come.</p>
<p>Daken motioned for him to continue, because he so obviously ached to say more. Logan never averted his gaze from him, still feverish with whatever conclusions he’d reached.</p>
<p>“You were dying, and there’s only ever been this awful spiral of violence between us. And I -” Logan trailed off. “It can’t be all there ever was, son. I know it’s on me, I…”</p>
<p>“It’s not,” Daken spoke up.</p>
<p>He clenched his jaw, shocked that he’d blurted it out like that. But it wasn’t; Logan was wrong. He knew that now.</p>
<p>Logan stared at him, wide-eyed, just as shocked. He looked ready to protest, but Daken was done with hiding away.</p>
<p>“It’s not just on you. It’s on me too,” he said, tasting the truth on his tongue. Knowing this was good, it was just, he should have done it so long ago. “We’ve hurt each other, Logan. Yes. And some of it <em>is </em>unforgivable. On both our parts. But if there’s one thing I realized during these loops, it’s that I don’t want that thread of hurt to be the only thing between us either.”</p>
<p>He took a breath, and spoke before his traitorous brain could talk him out of this.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Logan. For my part in it, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>And he really was. God, what a damn mess had their relationship been. What a sorry mess.</p>
<p>But he was different now. He strived to be. It could be different. It <em>would </em>be.</p>
<p>Logan looked dumbstruck, so terribly touched. He took a step in Daken’s direction, hand raised. “Son, I -”</p>
<p>He trailed off, brow furrowed, and glanced at the doll in his other hand. Daken followed his gaze.</p>
<p>He frowned. For a moment, his brain didn't compute what he was seeing.</p>
<p>The doll was glowing with a faint light, almost impossible to see. It flickered, pulsed, the light grew infinitesimally stronger. Heart thundering in his ears, Daken held his breath, hearing Logan do the same.</p>
<p>The light kept steadily growing, stark in the darkness surrounding them. Daken stared, disbelieving, as the glow grew, and grew, and <em>grew</em>, and grew around him too, until the both of them were bathed in white, two bright spots in the dark corridor.</p>
<p>“Holy shit,” breathed Logan, eyes full of wonder.</p>
<p>Daken couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the toy, its lines now barely visible in the blinding light, recalling his earlier startled thought, that ridiculous belief that the doll was linked to the geas.</p>
<p>It <em>was </em>linked. And the geas was… breaking?</p>
<p>There wasn’t even time to think. With a last white-hot pulsation that knocked the wind out of Daken, the light vanished, leaving them in darkness once again. He blinked fast, trying to re-orient himself.</p>
<p>There was no doll in Logan’s hand.</p>
<p>His father gaped, then met Daken’s gaze. His eyes flickered, reading God knew what on Daken’s face, getting God knew what kind of ideas. He opened his mouth, to say God knew what.</p>
<p>“I need to go,” Daken said before Logan could get anything out.</p>
<p>Logan glanced at his empty hand again. A grin was forming on his face, happy on his son’s behalf, glad that his son’s nightmare was over. “You think it’s over...?”</p>
<p>“I need to go,” Daken repeated, rattled, not recognizing his own voice. He couldn’t even move his legs.</p>
<p>Logan caught the waver in his voice. Of course he did. He wasn’t an idiot, and they were blood. They had the same powers. He was Daken’s <em>father.</em></p>
<p>He sobered. “Hey now,” he said softly, as if talking to a spooked horse. “It’s all right. I’m… sorry too, you know.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Daken choked out.</p>
<p>He really did. He willed his limbs to move. They did. Slowly, he made to turn.</p>
<p>“<em>Wait</em>,” Logan added, desperate, but staying put, and Daken was grateful for that. “What’s going to happen now? With us?”</p>
<p>Daken willed himself to talk.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he answered, voice tangled, raw. He felt exposed, there in that dark corridor, skin still tingling from that burst of magic. “I have things to do. I have to…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Find myself. Be a different man. Be me.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Get to Strange and get him to say if it’s true, if it’s gone, if I’m free, if it’s always been about Logan. My intent, my regret. If it’s only ever been about -</em>
</p>
<p>Someone was calling his name, in the distance. Johnny. There was movement, lights; the Baxter Building was waking up. Its occupants, stirred. Johnny’s voice was frantic with worry, coming closer and closer; Logan heard it too. He met Daken’s gaze and his eyes were soft and understanding and -</p>
<p>“Kid’s up. Think it has something to do with what just happened?”</p>
<p>Johnny had been fast asleep, exhausted. What would it take to wake him from that?</p>
<p>The timing was horribly suspicious.</p>
<p>Daken turned on his heels and fled.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I miscalculated a bit with the outline! The story is now going to have <i><b>seven</b></i> chapters, not six!<br/>See you in two weeks with the final chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. VII.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VII.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You fulfilled the terms,” Doctor Strange confirmed, hours later. “The geas is gone.”</p>
<p>Daken stood in that stupid alcove once again, nerves frayed. He thought the news would give him peace of mind, but it only frazzled him more.</p>
<p>He’d gone around the streets, before showing up on the Sorcerer’s doorstep at the crack of dawn. He’d walked the city that never sleeps, taking in the humanity surrounding him. Some people, he’d even thought he recognized from his loops.</p>
<p>An hour after he’d fled the Baxter Building, Johnny had texted him. ‘<em>Please, can we talk?’</em> Daken had left him on read and pocketed his phone and walked aimlessly, stupefied.</p>
<p>This was <em>it</em>, really? Days and days trapped in that nightmare; he thought it had been <em>months</em> but he wasn’t exactly sure, due to that blur of drugs in the middle. Months of crisis after crisis, of <em>desperation</em>, as he tried to determine what was expected of him, what he should do to escape. And this was how it ended?</p>
<p>What now?</p>
<p>“You don’t seem happy,” Strange observed. Daken coiled himself.</p>
<p>“I’m glad it’s over,” he recited. That, at least, was true. The loops had been a damn nightmare.</p>
<p>He should have realized sooner what it was all about. Really, it had been pretty damn straightforward. Only a blind man wouldn’t have realized towards what he was being pushed.</p>
<p>Well. They’d already established he was pretty blind where it counted, hadn't they?</p>
<p>He couldn’t <em>believe </em>that Reed had been right.</p>
<p>“But you look disappointed,” Strange pointed out. “The journey wasn't what you expected?”</p>
<p>Daken had gotten confirmation that he was free from the geas; he’d gotten what he’d come for. He didn’t have to stand there any longer and he certainly didn't have to indulge the man. But he was on edge, and incredulous, and the man was the reason he stood there in the first place.</p>
<p>Well, no. The <em>reason</em> was Daken himself. But Doctor Strange had a hand in it. He knew the inner workings of his magic. And he was right: Daken <em>was</em> dissatisfied.</p>
<p>“I would hardly call it a journey,” he protested.</p>
<p>“Really?” Strange cocked an eyebrow, seemingly intrigued. “Curious. May I ask why?”</p>
<p>Why? Because he’d thought he’d have to <em>do </em>something. Some nebulous idea about confronting… <em>something</em>, maybe. People, perhaps? He’d thought it would be a long, strenuous affair. And instead -</p>
<p>“I hardly did anything,” he vocalized, and fell silent.</p>
<p>“You really think so?” Strange leant against the wall, arms crossed. His damn cloak kept moving, the jewel at his throat glittering. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened?”</p>
<p>Preposterous. Was he really going to stand there and let Strange do this… this glorified psychoanalyzation of the effects of his own damn spell? Was he going to lead Daken to a couch next?</p>
<p>“Your geas,” Daken spat despite himself, “latched onto my regrets. It compelled me to face them, again and again.” Always putting Logan and Johnny in his way. Again, and again, and again. “Until...”</p>
<p>He trailed off.</p>
<p>Until he confronted them head-on. Until he admitted how he felt and did something about it. He'd resolved at least some of his feelings, and fixed what he could, and acknowledged that there was love, and care.</p>
<p>But so much more had happened to him, loop after loop. He'd reached a resolution, an understanding. He’d set out a goal for himself. He’d changed. Or he thought that he had, anyway; he thought that something fundamental inside him had shifted. And to see it all reduced to nothing… The idea that the geas had only cared about those two people in his life - important, yes, but wasn't he so much more? Didn't he have <em>more </em>to do? He knew that, he knew that he had so much more to do, with himself, so why didn't the damn geas?</p>
<p>“Ah, I see!” Strange snapped his fingers, looking and sounding incredibly smug. “You wanted an excuse.”</p>
<p>Daken frowned. “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes.” Strange nodded along, an eyebrow raised. “You wanted this grand, long quest, dragging on and on for ages. You wanted to hide away, didn't you? Never facing anything, not really -”</p>
<p>“I <em>did</em>,” Daken snarled, enraged by the picture painted by the Sorcerer’s scathing words, because it simply wasn't <em>true. </em>“I didn't hide away. I faced everything, I <em>understood </em>things. I saw myself for what I am, I saw the truth and accepted it, I saw what I needed to do, and your geas didn't care one whit -”</p>
<p>He stopped short as it dawned on him, laid out like that: the geas <em>had. </em>The geas had sensed it, his fundamental shift. <em>That </em>was what it had reacted to. His… His <em>intentions</em>.</p>
<p>Following Daken’s stunned silence, Strange raised his hands, palms up, as if his point had been made. Daken exhaled slowly.</p>
<p>“The geas molds itself after the recipient’s intent,” Strange said, almost gently now.</p>
<p>“You’ve said,” Daken murmured, afloat.</p>
<p>“But you didn't <em>understand</em>.” Strange couldn't remember that conversation, but he nodded anyway. “On the surface, yes, there were your regrets. Symbolized by two people, probably those closest to your mind when it took hold - I sensed it when I saw you. You did have to relieve yourself in that regard. But on a deeper level, you were compelled to see yourself. Only because some form of doubt was already inside you, of course. It wouldn't have taken that form with someone who wasn't struggling like you did.”</p>
<p>‘<em>Struggling</em>’, yes. He'd been reeling… for some time now.</p>
<p>“But magic doesn't fix everything,” Strange added softly. “Fulfilling the terms of the geas doesn't solve your problems, it only puts you on the path. The journey was the first part. The rest, it’s living.”</p>
<p>“I never thought it would <em>solve </em>my problems,” Daken protested, but weakly now, to be contrary on principle.</p>
<p>He hadn’t. But <em>hadn’t </em>he, in some way? He'd <em>wanted</em> a long journey. Hadn't he laid a path for himself that hinged on the fact that ridding himself of the geas would take time? First he'd tackle the geas, then <em>after </em>he was free he would work on himself, <em>then… </em>then he would get back to Johnny. To Logan, even. But it was all linked.</p>
<p>He couldn't change in a vacuum, far from those who… yes, who <em>cared</em> about him. Whom, yes, he cared about too.</p>
<p>Wasn't Strange right? Hadn't he somehow been wanting a way to delay what he had to do? And getting rid of the geas so suddenly had scared him, because that put him directly in front of the path he'd decided on, daring him to follow through.</p>
<p>And it would be so simple to just… ignore it. To get back to what he was, what he'd been. To rely on the comfort of known patterns. Because it was one thing to say and do and think those things, trapped in loop after loop, knowing he could just restart, but living it, now, knowing there was no do-over possible…?</p>
<p>It was a terrifying thought. One could fall back and never think about it again. Even with that knowledge simmering inside him, inaction would be easier. Predictable. Safe.</p>
<p>But perhaps he ought to take a leap.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>And if I can make it there, I’ll make it practically anywhere. It’s up to </em>you<em>, New York, New York, New Work </em>-”</p>
<p>Daken opened his eyes as the final chords of Sinatra’s song vibrated in his ears. A store clerk hovered nearby, eyeing him suspiciously. Daken could hear the girl just fine, but he made a show of putting away his headphones.</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Um, sir.” The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking like she wasn't paid nearly enough to deal with the weirdo standing still - with his eyes <em>closed</em>, no less - by the Avengers stall. “Are you going to purchase that, sir?”</p>
<p>Daken looked down at the Wolverine doll in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I am, yes. Do you offer delivery services?”</p>
<p>Her relief was palpable as she directed him towards the co-worker in charge of deliveries, whose eyes bulged when he recognized the address - but not the name, as Daken addressed the package to James Howlett - and he surreptitiously tried to study Daken, as if he could determine if he was a mutant from his mere looks. The transaction was otherwise quick, and Daken only hesitated when he was asked if it was a gift and if he wanted to write up a note.</p>
<p>“The standard store bag will do,” he said eventually, eyeing the colorful choices for wrapping paper on the counter. It <em>would </em>be morbidly funny, but that was behind him. Like when he used to mockingly call Logan ‘<em>daddy</em>’. “I would like a pen.”</p>
<p>Before he could talk himself out of it, he wrote a phone number and a simple note. ‘<em>Don’t abuse this information. You can share it with <strike>the clone</strike> Laura. Thank her for me.</em>’</p>
<p>If asked about it, he’d swear that the toy store was simply on the way to the Baxter Building, but the truth was that he owed Logan a doll, after the old memento had vanished so suddenly. It felt fitting, like tying a neat bow. Or unwrapping it, maybe.</p>
<p>Taking a leap into the unknown.</p>
<p>Reed was surprised to see him. It had less to do with the fact that Daken managed to evade the doorbell and slithered into the man’s lab, and more to do with the fact that he clearly hadn’t expected Daken to come back. But he seemed pleased.</p>
<p>“Well don’t you look like your shining old self,” he greeted Daken, surveying his work with a satisfied glint.</p>
<p>Doctor Strange had explained that while they analyzed the data gleaned from studying Laura’s healing factor, they’d put Daken under cryogenic sleep. Finding a solution had taken them days. Daken probably hadn’t restarted a loop only because the geas had known he was already on the way and this time was the last time.</p>
<p>“Not my old self,” he corrected the scientist. Reed cocked his head, half conceding a point, half questioning.</p>
<p>“It’s over, then? Logan said <em>something </em>happened but wouldn’t spill. And Johnny woke up surrounded by a blinding light. Stephen told me to mind my own business, but something clearly happened.”</p>
<p>He spoke as if he’d already made up his mind about what had happened, with the assuredness of a genius. Daken hummed.</p>
<p>“No green suns for me anymore. Where can I find Johnny?”</p>
<p>He hadn’t texted the man back. Written words felt… inadequate. He wanted to see Johnny in the eyes.</p>
<p>Reed cocked his head up to indicate the ceiling. “He went flying. If he’s not on the rooftop, he’ll be soon.”</p>
<p>Ah. Of course. Fitting, in a way.</p>
<p>Daken nodded and made to leave for the elevator, but stopped. Reed had returned his attention to whatever he was doing, completely trusting. Even after being told about the bombs. Daken cleared his throat and the man raised his head from his work.</p>
<p>“Thank you for your help, Reed.”</p>
<p>Without the scientist, things would have gone on for far longer, he was sure of it. He wasn’t sure he could properly express everything, but this was a first step, surely?</p>
<p>Reed waved a hand. “Don’t mention it.” And he motioned upwards, encouraging.</p>
<p>The rooftop was empty.</p>
<p>Daken dodged the deck chairs and leaned against the parapet, gazing into the city. The sun was going down; despite his determination from that morning, it had taken him the whole day to even work up the courage to come. He’d spent hours trying to plan everything he would say, down to the last detail, but this wasn’t an attack or a trick. He wasn’t trying to gain the upper hand or deceive.</p>
<p>It was fitting, that he was standing here, in the same place as so much time ago.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes against the faint breeze picking up. He felt, remembered, phantom fingers on his skin, the soft touch of Johnny’s hands on his arm, his back. His quickened breath, gentle against Daken’s lips. Daken had made some quip, a syrupy non-sequitur. Johnny’s scent had coated them both in yearning. Daken had asked if he could kiss him, soft and hesitant - the deception, only in his head. He’d been rattled even before then, he’d craved Johnny before then. Johnny had fallen into his arms readily, breathless. He’d fit right into Daken’s arms. It had felt like home.</p>
<p>Johnny had felt like home.</p>
<p>There was a roar, in the distance. Daken opened his eyes and surveyed the sky until he found the source, the man surrounded by flames and about to fly by the tower. He raised an arm in greeting, unsheathing his claws to make himself known.</p>
<p>The column of fire slowed to a stop and stood there in the air, staring down at him as if in a stupor. Daken attempted a smile - not a pre-made expression. It tugged too strangely at the corners of his lips. It probably looked forced.</p>
<p>With a cry Johnny hastily landed on the rooftop, vanishing his flames as he touched down. Daken lowered his arm and retracted his claws as he considered Johnny, as they stared at each other from a short distance.</p>
<p>Johnny looked breathtaking. The touch of melancholy on his features - he’d been trying to work through the disappointment, he always went flying when he was upset, he’d haunted the skies for days when he’d thought Daken had died - was already being replaced by sheer delight and relief.</p>
<p>Still, he stood back, hesitant. He smiled sadly. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t either.”</p>
<p>Johnny nodded. Daken had this habit of taking what he wanted from the Fantastic Family and leaving.</p>
<p>“Is it… gone?” Johnny said, hugging himself. “The geas?”</p>
<p>He’d woken up surrounded by a bright light, Reed had said. He knew something was up. Maybe he was thinking about that movie, too. He searched Daken’s face, wondering.</p>
<p>“It’s gone,” Daken confirmed. “I’m free.”</p>
<p>Johnny smiled like the sun, a broad happy grin. “That’s great!”</p>
<p>“You were right,” Daken added, before he talked himself out of this too. “I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>The grin softened into a gentle smile as Johnny took a step in his direction. He spoke with a low tone of encouragement. “About?”</p>
<p>“I'm not a good man,” Daken said. “I'm not a kind man. I did terrible things.”</p>
<p>“I think I can take the risk.”</p>
<p>Johnny took a step, and another, until they were standing very close. Daken kept still, intoxicated. Yearning, oh, so much, breathing Johnny's air. Johnny's presence warmed him.</p>
<p>“I don't want to hurt you, Johnny,” Daken murmured. He couldn’t speak any louder, mesmerized by the lines of Johnny's face. He was listening very intently to Daken’s words. “I want to change, to be better. I do. But I'm afraid of hurting you.”</p>
<p>“I'm not afraid.”</p>
<p>Johnny spoke with an assuredness that Daken envied. Even standing here, speaking so plainly, it made Daken feel so exposed, on edge. He wasn't going to become the better version of himself overnight. Already it pulled at him, decades of acting so differently, knowing no other way, <em>seeking </em>no other way. He hailed from a harsher world than Johnny's.</p>
<p>“I <em>have </em>hurt you, many times. You can't remember, but I did. And you do remember that I deceived you.”</p>
<p>It felt right to remind Johnny. They'd spoken of it before Daken was put under, but he ought to repeat it. His last conversation with Donna came unbidden to his mind. To her, too, he'd promised. Her rejection had stung. He'd fallen back immediately. Johnny wasn't like that, he wasn't like her, but still, Daken trembled at the thought.</p>
<p>He wasn't just afraid of hurting Johnny. He was terrified of Johnny seeing him, really seeing him, and rejecting him too. But perhaps the difference this time was that his resolution wasn't a hasty empty promise, only stemming from the terror of being left alone.</p>
<p>This time, he knew.</p>
<p>“We've gone through this,” Johnny reminded him, soft. “I'm not worried. I know you, Daken. I know what you're capable of. And I’ve still missed you.” His eyes were blazing. “I've been missing you for two years.”</p>
<p>Daken frowned, taken aback. “What?” It came out in a stunned whisper.</p>
<p>Two <em>years? </em>The loops had affected his sense of time, and before them the Heat, in a way. but Daken was sure that Johnny was dead for four months before his miraculous return. They'd been four long, excruciating months, but all the same, just four <em>months</em>.</p>
<p>Unless there was something more to Johnny's death, something that the public hadn't known.</p>
<p>Johnny rubbed at the nape of his neck, grimacing. “I was in the Negative Zone. For me, it’s been two years. Been dying and coming back a couple of times -”</p>
<p>Daken surged forward, grasping at Johnny’s arms, feeling the <em>need </em>to make sure he was all right. Not just one death, but multiple deaths? For <em>two years?</em></p>
<p><em>‘It’s been a long time’</em>, Johnny had said while he embraced Daken. Daken hadn’t understood because, yes, it had <em>felt </em>like such a long time. And all the while, Johnny had been suffering…?</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he choked out, squeezing Johnny’s arms.</p>
<p>Johnny smiled a soft reassuring smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah. It’s… it’s in the past, it’s over, it’s all right. But listen,” he said, cupping Daken’s elbows with an intense urgency that made Daken shiver with longing. “Listen. It was a nightmare, in there. And the only thing that kept me going… it was thinking about my family. And my friends. And <em>you.</em>”</p>
<p>His gaze was boring right into Daken’s soul.</p>
<p>There had been times, during the loops, when Johnny had looked so different. Martial, a commander. He'd exhibited such an intense focus. Daken had thought none of it, too coiled around himself. Hurting and terrified and tired, desperate to escape. But Johnny -</p>
<p>Johnny had changed too. He’d lived through something terrible, just as Daken. And he’d come out of it with a single-minded focus not unlike Daken’s own.</p>
<p>He’d made up his mind already. He had a memory of Daken’s misdeeds and all the time in the world to come to terms with it. No wonder he was so adamant. No wonder he’d been so hurt during the loops, when Daken did his best to push him away. And at the beginning, before they started, and then the first times… when Daken was trapped and desperate and kept lashing out.</p>
<p>Hurting Johnny enough to make him leave despite his resolution, again and again. What Daken feared had already happened.</p>
<p>But it would be different now. Because he was different; because he wanted to be.</p>
<p>“Do you understand what I'm saying?” Johnny murmured, his gaze roaming Daken’s face, his fingers tracing patterns on Daken's elbows. “Daken, I… I want to stand beside you. I want to be there for you.”</p>
<p>It took the wind out of Daken, it did. He’d come here to take a leap, to put himself in Johnny’s hands, to try and trust this feeling.</p>
<p>And Johnny had met him halfway. He was there already, offering. Offering himself, giving himself to Daken unreservedly. Trusting him.</p>
<p>Daken would be worthy of that trust. He’d take that leap, and become a better version of himself. He’d take on his path. Not for Johnny, or for Logan; for <em>himself</em>.</p>
<p>And he wouldn’t do it alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Fin</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So sorry for the delay! Yesterday I encountered some technical difficulties ^^”</p>
<p>I don’t usually dip my toe into trope-y ponds, but I’ve been wanting to try my hand at time-loop fics for a long time. And I’ve been picturing this story for years, ever since rereading the end of the LA arc. I hope you enjoyed this story at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was fun!</p>
<p>Do let me know what you think, comments make my day ^-^</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are always welcome ^-^ Do tell me your thoughts!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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